


The Gotham-ish Play

by raven_aorla



Category: Gotham (TV), Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst and Humor, Anti-Witch Prejudice, But it's still pretty much Gotham City, Compulsive Handwashing, Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, Ed's a far too suitable Lady Macbeth, F/F, F/M, Happier ending than source material, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Macbeth AU, Macbeth Fusion, Most Witches Are Chaotic Neutral, Non-Graphic Violence, Pseudo Aristocracy, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Crossover, Shakespeare Fusion, Shakespeare knowledge optional, The ships will make it to harbor, Urban Fantasy, Visions, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: “Huh, it’s Cobblepot, Page of Umbrellas,” Bridgit said, flicking sparks into the air for her own amusement before letting them fade.“Dude, no, this is Cobblepot, Lord Penguin.” Selina retracted her claws and cocked her head at the funny little man in too much eyeliner.Ivy clapped her hands together, cauldron forgotten, and squeed. “No, no, this is so cool, this is so cool, this is gonna be the King of Gotham!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irisbleufic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/gifts).



> Not your favorite Shakespeare, I know, but I also know you agree that it is best suited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go to the end notes for a character guide. Some of you may enjoy figuring it out on your own, hence sticking it down there instead of up here.

“When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

“Why you always gotta be so dramatic, Ivy?”

Ivy Pepper stuck her tongue out at Bridgit Pike before she went back to stirring what was totally a cauldron, no matter if anyone else said it was a salvaged bathtub.

“Especially since we live here and can meet whenever we want,” Selina Kyle added, though she ruffled Ivy’s hair fondly to maintain the peace. Ivy had found a decent place for them and her plants to squat for the time being. While there were legitimate ways for openly-practicing witches to earn income even with the stigma around them, a scruffy triad of queer orphan ones with atypical powers had it tougher.

Then the door creaked open. Selina had her claws out and braced to transform the rest of the way if necessary. A ball of flame appeared in Bridgit’s hands. And the vines creeping up and down the walls poised as if to strike.

It was only Jim Gordon, cop who had traded with them for information in the past, and some limping guy. “Evening, young witches, this is…”

“Huh, it’s Cobblepot, Page of Umbrellas,” Bridgit said, flicking sparks into the air for her own amusement before letting them fade.

“Dude, no, this is Cobblepot, Lord Penguin.” Selina retracted her claws and cocked her head at the funny little man in too much eyeliner.

Ivy clapped her hands together, cauldron forgotten, and squeed. “No, no, this is so cool, this is so cool, this is gonna be the King of Gotham!”

Oswald stared at them and then at Gordon. “What? Really?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here, no matter our agreement.” Gordon grimaced. Selina turned into a lithe black cat and wound around Gordon’s legs, meowing until he grimaced even more and took out his wallet to pay the usual rate. Because the Weird Girls were always right and he was repaying Oswald for a favor.

 

****

 

“You gotta take this boat outta Gotham, ma’am, and don’t come back,” Butch said, leading her to the little yacht he’d paid off.

She clasped her hands around his. “It’s Fish. You’ve earned it. And I will be back, honey, don’t you worry about that. No way am I letting that umbrella boy have what’s mine, no matter what the old man thinks. Falcone’s days are numbered.”

 

****

Oswald enjoyed his new power for over a year with Ivy’s voice in his mind every night.

Then the Maroni faction rose again. And murdered his mother. Falcone acted as though smoothing Oswald Cobblepot, Lord Penguin's transition into also being the Thane of Van Dahl - despite being the late Lord Elijah, Thane of Van Dahl's long-lost _bastard_ son - as sufficient recompense. Jim had not come through when Oswald called upon him, saying he couldn't go against the judgment of the king.

In all this misfortune, though, Oswald lucked into the best thing that had ever happened to him.

 

****

 

Jim dropped by the lab to be unprofessional with Dr. Thompkins shortly before noon. No overt inappropriate touching, but standing close, making each other giggle (even Jim), grinning softly and stupidly, things like that.

“Have you heard from Kristen?” Jim asked suddenly after minutes of overheard sweet nothings that were slowly flaying Ed alive, no big deal or anything. “I noticed that she still hasn’t cashed any of her paychecks, is all, and you’re the only one who…”

Dr. Thompkins cut him off with a Look. “I know it’s hard for you, Ed, her running off with…”

“I need to wash my hands,” Ed replied curtly, jarring the last of the samples and stripping off his gloves. He paused and softened - for Dr. Thompkins, not Jim. “Thank you. But no.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry for touching on a sore spot for you. We’re thinking of picking up gyros from the food truck around the corner, would you like one? No onions, I remember.”

“Thanks. Yes, sure, extra tzatziki on the side if you can, I’ll pay you back. Um, be sure you’re getting enough folic acid in your diet, that’s good for, for fetal development.” Ed ran off to the bathroom. Who knew the young woman had so much blood in her? He was still finding specks of it on his hands after days and days, even if the death itself had been bloodless and he’d taken every precaution not to get any blood on him at all when cutting her up for disposal.

_Lee’s an issue toooooooooo,_  his reflection singsonged. _Just cause she’s a bit nicer to you than the rest of them and she’s pregnant doesn’t mean we can ignore the obvious. Besides, it’s Jimbo’s kid, maybe the world would be better off without the offspring of such a two-faced…_

“Doesn’t sound like him. You’re thinking of someone else,” Ed muttered, not looking up. Then he had to hastily rinse off mid another lather when his phone rang. “Hello?”

“Ed, I need to meet with you when you get off work today,” Oswald said on the other end of the line. “Please don’t do too much arguing with yourself in the meantime; I need my friends not to be in Arkham when the time is right.”

Ed felt a little squeeze in his heart that meant nothing. Nothing at all. “Roger that.” If anyone else had stumbled on Ed burying Kristen, it would have meant another body joining the unexpected hunter in an already crowded grave. But Oswald Cobblepot had been seeking shelter from members of the Maroni gang and an alliance was formed of necessity. And continued out of more than that.

_You’re not really his friend, let alone anything else you're quietly pining for. You’re just useful,_ his mirror told him after he hung up.

“Go throw yourself off a tower or something,” Ed growled. One more hand wash for now before his skin started feeling unacceptably dry. Maybe he could start wearing fingerless gloves when he wasn’t wearing latex gloves for work...those were reasonably trendy, right?

 

****

 

Ed’s apartment felt safe and welcoming to Oswald now, far more than his own place, regardless of its own history. Ed had a surprising and delightfully sophisticated stash of wine that he could hold forth on at length when pouring each of them a glass. He also had set out some mini puff pastry quiche things to snack on until he could take dinner out of the oven.

“You didn’t have to cook,” Oswald said as Ed settled in across from him.

“I like to cook, and this way we can talk privately while eating. I did most of the prep yesterday while you weren’t here.” He was wearing dark green fingerless gloves for some reason, and leaned forward on his elbows to grin guilelessly towards Oswald and conspiratorially in reference to the rest of the world. He was far too handsome.

“Ed, I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I didn't think this was important.”

“I’m all ears! Though not literally, if I were there wouldn’t be anywhere for the ears to send input, thus rendering them useless - if a tree falls in the forest and you are made up of nothing but ears, you might was well -”

Oswald held up a hand, smiling to show he wasn’t annoyed. A non-judgmental signal. Ed stopped. “The question I’m going to ask, no matter what the answer is, my estimation of you is not going to change. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ed bit his lower lip. He needed to stop being cute when Oswald needed to be firm.

“When you were helping me get through the grief of my mother’s murder at the hands of Sal Maroni, we shared with each other that our mothers had both been witches.” That had been a powerful bonding moment. Being a witch’s child had been the most prominent of the many reasons Oswald had been relentlessly bullied growing up.

“Yes.”

“Are you a warlock?”

Ed immediately laughed. High-pitched, to the point of frantic. “Don’t be silly! Warlocks don’t exist!”

“Ed.”

“Why are you even asking that? Am I not useful enough for you?”

“Ed.” And Oswald took one of Ed’s hands in his. “I want to know who I have beside me in this. Because you are by my side. I don’t want you to feel a need to have such big secrets from me.”

Ed jerked his hand back, but only in order to strip off the glove and then grab Oswald’s hands again. “If you want to know, if you really, I want...more skin, have always, but...”

“Will you see anything?”

“Hah. Well. Lord Nashton wasn’t too pleased when he learned the mother of his son was a witch, even less pleased when the son liked riddles. Too close to spells. They say it’s possible for a witch to be good, but even if there was such a thing as a warlock he’d never…” Ed gripped so tight it hurt a little, but not enough to injure. “I didn’t mean to kill Kristen, but when you, when you get emotional, you see? I was never allowed to train, never, and when I was found with books...I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it right now.”

Ed nodded gratefully. “I went into forensics because the little visions would be acceptable, I could disguise them as insights. I don’t see ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. I see shadows, shades, extrapolations of what a certain personality or inner turmoil would look like if it had its own shape and sound. Bits of the past and present, never the future. That’s the rarest, seeing the future I mean, and I’ve heard in some ways it’s the least useful when it comes to acting on it to a desirable outcome. But I’m pretty good at figuring out other people’s prophecies. They’re just riddles in the end. I’m also naturally _unnaturally_ good at opening things, undoing things, unmaking, confusing...”

“Yes. And it doesn’t matter why, it’s amazing.”

“People think I’m ghoulish, but I happen to see things like shadowy eyeballs melting on dinner plates, can’t stop it. I don’t think I could have ever been an oracle or even a professional seer, even if everyone would have been alright with it.”

“I know professional seers whom I consult from time to time. I don’t need another.”

A set of beeps came from the kitchen. “Let me go get the food.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t get up, I’ll just be a moment.” Ed laughed. “Wow, this all feels thrilling to say out loud. You’re the only person I’m ‘out’ to when it comes to three different things, now, Oswald, and we know that’s a magic number.”

When Ed returned, Oswald was leaning against the table as nonchalantly as his nerves and leg would allow. “You’ve cheated me out of an explicit coming out, then. Because while I’m fairly sure what you mean, you’ve only told me that you’re a murderer and a warlock.”

Ed carefully put the two plates of food on the table before standing back and looking down at Oswald. “I was used by the Romans to close a deal. I’m pressed to a child’s wound to make it heal. In films I’m for endings, in ceremonies I’m for beginnings.”

Oswald tipped up his face. Ed closed the distance between them.

 

****

 

“Microwaves are wonderful,” Ed said about two hours later. “Much better than magic.”

“I still haven’t gotten to the main issue this meeting was for,” Oswald said, swathed in one of Ed’s dressing gowns. He’d worked up an appetite and was nearly finished eating.

“Go ahead.” Ed was making his way through his plate more thoughtfully, hair sticking up in all directions.

“The best time for me to strike will be the night of the Founders' Dinner next month. Sorry for the short notice. There were a lot of other things in play. But Jim Gordon is going to suspect me, and he’s likely going to be there because he’s the only remaining heir to his family’s seat on the Court of Owls.”

“And oh does he whine about how he just wants to live a normal life on his own merits,” Ed commented with a snicker.

“Does he know about your background?”

“Captain Essen was the only one who ever knew, not even the Commissioner. Essen was sympathetic to my desire for privacy. I removed it from the records before Barnes moved in. It raises too many questions.”

Oswald nodded. “Anyway, I would really appreciate if you could frame him for murder. I thought he was my friend once, and when I truly needed him I learned that was wrong. That is not something I can forgive. I could hire any number of people to kill him, or at least try, but that would only increase suspicion.”

Ed’s grin went even wider and he clapped his hands in delight. “This solves one of my problems too. Nothing happens to Dr. Thompkins and her child, though, she’s been good to me.”

“Understood. And when I’m king, she can be rewarded for her past kindness to my consort. I might even pardon him sometime, when my power has solidified and it stops being funny.”

For a moment, Ed’s voice developed an unusually deep pitch and slow cadence for him. _“He shall live a man forbid: weary se’nnights nine times nine shall he dwindle, peak and pine. Though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-tossed."_

Oswald looked at him with awe and a tinge of nostalgia. "My mother always said she didn't curse, she promised."

Ed gave him a tiny smile, then shivered. "Gah, I haven’t done that for ages. It feels uncanny, itchy almost. I need wine now.”

They clinked their glasses, drank, and soon went back to bed.

 

*****

 

“Cat says you’re having second thoughts about your big plans,” Ivy told Oswald when she arrived at his mansion, where he’d instructed Olga to make a wide variety of vegetarian delights that would appeal to a teenage girl. “That one’s for free.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Oswald said dryly, sitting across from her.

“You’re my favorite client, Pengy, I swear. This looks great but I gotta do this bit on an empty stomach.” She took a little pouch off her belt that proved to be full of dried mushrooms. Oswald made no comment. “Ask me three questions, all in a row, right now. Word them very carefully. I can’t control how literal or metaphorical my answers are. And I won’t be able to recharge for, like, two or three weeks, depending on how much other stuff I do in the meantime.”

“1. What or who is my greatest threat? 2. What is the most important thing when it comes to dealing with this threat? and 3. At what sign should I cut my losses and run?”

Ivy ate three mushrooms. “This will take a sec to hit. How are things lately?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Miss Pepper, though I appreciate the thought.”

“Aw, don’t be grumpy! There’s gonna be a meteor shower soon! We’re going to find a hill a ways outside the city to watch.”

“Do you know any other oracles besides you and your friends?”

“You mean besides me and my _girlfriends_? Most are in Arkham, sadly.” Ivy started folding her napkin into a flower. “Not everyone with gifts are witches, and not every witch has perception-related gifts, but clairvoyance likes to bundle itself with legit mental illness. Sometimes it can be unlocked by artificial means. It’s really dodgy though. I don’t know if you read the rumors that some boy whose dad experimented on him using secretions from adrenal glands spent months and months screaming and then was suddenly an empath? Though at least he got a useful skill out of massive trauma if that’s true. Look on the bright side.”

Oswald asked her a few questions about the trio and their welfare. They were an important resource to cultivate and were amusing, even endearing, when he wasn’t so tense. Eventually Ivy’s pupils dilated and she sat straight up and said, “Beware Galavan.”

“Who?”

Ivy scoffed and shrugged. “No other than Galavan will harm Cobblepot. And Cobblepot will not be vanquished until Hidden Indian Hill to City Hall shall come against him.”

“Indian Hill is a place, though.”

“That’s what I have for ya, sorry. Pass the butter? You’re so much more polite about this than Detective Gourd is.”

 

****

 

_Five days later:_

Ivy ate one of her dry mushroom slices. “Okay, I can only do one question because I’m all out of juice. But then you let Bridgit go. She really didn’t see anything in the fire anyway.”

Jim nodded. “I believe she didn’t, but I’m sticking my neck out to sneak this past the rest of the precinct.”

“And then you’re gonna stop just dropping by the greenhouse, because one of these days you’re going to set off someone’s PTSD and I don’t want to have to cover up your accidental death.”

“Got it.”

“What’s the question?”

“What’s going to happen with me and the Court of Owls?”

Ivy looked up at the ceiling, then back down at him, eyes barely anything other than pupil. “You will not be of the Owls, but you will be family to the Bat.”

“What?”

“Bye bye, Jim.”

On his way out he got his text from Lee reminding him that it would be nice for him to attend at least one of these prenatal checkups with her, and what did he think of the names Helena, Cassandra, and Stephanie? Lee had always wanted to name any daughter of hers Barbara after a beloved relative, but unfortunately that probably wasn’t going to work here.

 

*****

 

It was two nights before Oswald was going to kill Falcone, and he showed up at Ed’s door unannounced. “Are you busy?”

Ed gestured at the newly purchased cork board where he had lots of pictures, push-pins, and strings. They had Jim Gordon’s face, some newspaper clippings, a picture of an officer Oswald vaguely remembered… “I’m working out the last stages of my plan. Officer Pinkney, who has said very uncomplimentary things about both you and witches, moonlights in occasional security for the extra money. He’ll be there, too, and I should be able to make it look like Jim’s the one who kills him. Over the years I’ve got all these cops trained to sign things I hold out to them. It’s intoxicating.”

“About that…”

“Please, sit. I’ll turn off _Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!_ It’s a rerun.” Ed switched off the radio.

Oswald sat on the edge of Ed’s bed. “I’m having second thoughts about this. Maybe what I have is enough, and I’m being foolish to risk it all to try to take more. In my previous grabs for power I lost my mother and partial use of my leg, and what if I end up dead in the harbor? Or lose you? Besides, Falcone has been as kind to me as one can expect from someone in his position…”

“Except when he wasn’t,” Ed hissed, sitting beside him. “You’ve been working too hard for this for too long, and you know what the oracles said. It’s not just you, I’ve been working for this too. You’ve promised me and not only yourself.”

“You don’t understand.”

Ed took a switchblade out of his pocket and pressed it to his own neck. Oswald nearly shrieked. “I understand what it’s like to fear for your life. In a breathless, possibly last moment. To stand, poised over the brink of the void, see it all that echoing way below. The paralysis of it. I know that stillness. I have so much more to live for now that I did then. But if I had promised you I would kill myself right here and now, as seriously as you have promised me that you will kill Falcone, I would slit my own throat this very second.”

“Put it down, please, I get it.”

Ed folded the knife and put it down, and Oswald snatched it and threw it to the other side of the room. “Sorry. I have trouble getting people to take me seriously, so when it’s important I go over-the-top, often to my detriment.”

“I’ve noticed. I will always take you seriously, Ed. No theatrics needed.” Oswald kissed him. “I have you to lose, now.”

“But _we_ have more to gain. Though maybe let’s not have you called King Penguin, as that is an actual species.”

Oswald laughed and pushed him backwards onto the bed. “No silly martyrdom. Seriously, do your other analogies involve infanticide or something?”

“No, though I do have an analogy involving demonic possession. Okay, love. But we will plan.”

“Certainly. In a bit.”

“Okie dokie.” Ed pulled him close with lanky arms. “Do you see blood on my hands?”

“No. Do you want any? We haven’t gone on one of those dates in a while.”

“Just checking….mmm, fair is foul and foul is fair, and fowl with ‘w’ is fairest…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy, Selina, and Bridgit = Three Witches
> 
> Oswald = Macbeth
> 
> Ed = Lady Macbeth, but also a witch
> 
> Falcone = Duncan
> 
> Fish Mooney = Malcolm
> 
> Butch Gilzean = Whatever support Malcolm requires in a given scene
> 
> Mario Falcone = Donalbain
> 
> Jim = Banquo
> 
> Lee/unborn child of Lee and Jim = Lady Banquo/Fleance
> 
> Indian Hill = Birnam Wood
> 
> Theo and Tabitha Galavan = share the role of Macduff. 
> 
> Zsasz and Zsaszettes = The various hired Murderers
> 
> If I can fit them in, I might add more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some additional characters have been added to the list. See end notes. 
> 
> The three main witches keep getting more and more important to the story, and I am okay with that.

The Founders’ Dinner was the one time every year that the Court of Owls went unmasked and mixed with the King and/or Queen, the Thanes, and a number of lesser Lords and Ladies. This was the first one after the death of his uncle. That meant Jim absolutely had to put in an appearance. Lee didn’t want to go to a formal event where she would already have felt out of place, let alone while pregnant and unable to at least have a drink. Jim thought this was just as well, so he could be on his guard without worrying about her too. 

Not every Courtier had a separate claim to nobility, but it was considered one on its own, and had a similar system of inheritance. For the first twenty-five years after a seat at the Court became empty and not replaced for one reason or another, there would still be a place setting for them at the Dinner. Courtier Barnes, for example, had been locked up after a murderous rampage and had no suitable heirs, and Courtier Lady Montoya and all her kin had been expelled for alleging that the Court was corrupt. 

The most interesting case was Courtier Lord Nashton, who was rumored to have murdered his witch wife for producing a warlock son he’d sent away or locked up somewhere before his own mysterious death. Harvey Bullock, Jim’s best friend, called these rumors a “steaming pile of glittery unicorn shit, because horseshit is real.” Most people agreed, though they expressed it less colorfully.

Jim took his seat when most were still mingling. He quietly drank his wine and absorbed the small talk as best he could in case it proved useful one day. Harvey was a very minor Lord to the point where he had a relatively lowly day job as GCPD captain, and hadn’t been invited. It would have been nice to have backup. It would also have been nice to not have Cobblepot occasionally smiling at him from wherever in the room he was circulating at the moment. It was disconcerting now that they had fallen out. 

“I don’t think witch-breeds should be allowed to be Thanes, do you?” said a man Jim didn’t recognize when he claimed an empty chair near Jim. He jerked his head in Cobblepot's direction.

“I think that might be a slightly extreme statement, sir,” Jim said as neutrally as he could. Even if he didn’t trust Cobblepot, his feelings about Cobblepot were for reasons than his heritage. As they should be. Unlike most in his position, Cobblepot had never hidden his mother's nature. He said he was proud to be Gertrud Kapelput's son no matter what anyone said. Jim respected that.

For a moment the man’s brow furrowed, but then he smiled with a paradoxically stern sort of charm. “Well, I can admire someone who sticks by their convictions, at least. I hear you’re a man of honor, Courtier Gordon.”

Jim was about to ask the stranger’s name when Falcone tapped a spoon against his wineglass. Everyone’s attention turned to him, and everyone sitting rose to their feet out of respect. Falcone was a natural public speaker and it was easy to hear him despite his poor health (the poor health that had everyone on edge). “Good evening to you all, and welcome. Before we begin our meal, I have two very important announcements to make.”

****

Oswald had carefully calculated his odds. If there was no prince or princess ready to take the throne upon the death of the ruling monarch, the new one would be the Thane selected by the Court of Owls. The other options would be Lord James, Thane of Aubrey (weak, easy to intimidate), Lord Dent, Thane of Coin (who enjoyed being Minister of Justice and didn’t want to be king), and Lady Hearst, Thane of Amber (unambitious and could be bribed). The previous Thane of Wayne would have been serious competition, but the current one was too young to qualify or even attend the dinner. It was the same with Lady St. Cloud, Thane of Dumas.

As if he could read Oswald’s mind, Falcone continued, “The first thing I would like to say is that while Lady St. Cloud has not reached the age of majority, she _has_ reached the age to name her own regent, or to abdicate from the line of succession altogether. Her one uncle did not automatically become the new Thane of Dumas, as unlike in some families, this title isn’t matrilineal by default. However, his niece, of her own free will, has chosen him to replace her.”

Yeah, right, as if. Oswald wondered what had been done to the poor girl to get her to sign on the dotted line. 

“Please give a round of applause to Lord Theo Galavan, Thane of Dumas.”

The tall, authoritative-looking man in a crisp suit standing right next to Jim bowed. He started talking, but Oswald couldn’t make out any words. He felt dizzy. 

_Beware of Galavan._

_None shall harm Cobblepot but Galavan._

He returned to full awareness of his surroundings when Falcone spoke again. “Speaking of abdication, you are all familiar with my son Mario’s choice many years ago to follow a different path and go try his fortune in the South. However, I am pleased and proud to tell you that Mario has had a change of heart, and returned to take up the duties of a prince. Mario, come out and meet your subjects.”

Oswald was not the only person whose applause was less than thrilled. Even in his teens, people had dubbed Falcone’s son "The Dauphin of Disappointment" and "Lothario Mario". 

He needed to run somewhere and call Ed ASAP.

****

Earlier today, Ed had done two extremely simple things. One was wait for Officer Pinkney to be busy taking a phone call, then thrust a clipboard and a pen at him with a murmured, “Can you just sign this requisition form real quick? Thanks.”

The other was to walk by Jim with a massive teetering stack of files, while wearing latex gloves and lab goggles on his head, and something that looked like a crowbar. Then act like everything was about to slip from his grasp. Everyone was used to Ed doing eccentric things with a variety of items to increase his practical forensics knowledge when he had any downtime at work. “Can you hold this for a minute while I get a handle on these records? Thanks!”

Ed chose a crowbar for two reasons. First, it was actually one of the special wrought-iron crowbars, not steel, used for prying open containers sealed by magic, or destroying objects made with magic. Wrought iron inhibited magic. It was painful for witches to touch, potentially to the point of burns. Ed’s father had used it on Ed as a litmus test to see if he really was a warlock when Ed started showing signs of talents. After the test turned out positive, Lord Nashton had used it for other things whenever normal disciplinary measures wouldn’t satisfy him. Ed instinctively shrank from its aura now, and was therefore not going to absentmindedly touch it with his bare hands after he got Jim’s fingerprints on it.

Contact with pure iron was even a little uncomfortable for witch’s sons, which would draw suspicion away from Oswald the slightest bit more. 

Second:

“What are you doing here?”

Selina had been paid handsomely for learning the guard schedule and placements for tonight’s extra security, and found a way in for Ed besides. Pinkney was where she said he’d be, in an isolated corner of the basement near a fire exit.

Ed hefted the crowbar with a meaningful glance. He knew Pinkney knew that Ed knew what this kind of crowbar was sometimes less peacefully used for. Hate crimes and instances of police brutality against witches had gone down over the past decades, but they weren’t gone. “You’re not the only one who’s been called into service. There’s witches around here. It’s my job to find any concrete proof of their wrongdoing if there’s any funny business.”

“You can do that?” Pinkney was just smart enough to be surprised, but not smart enough to be skeptical.

“I can do a lot of things,” Ed said, stepping within striking range. He couldn’t resist showing off. “Guess what Lord Cobblepot and I have in common?”

Pinkney scoffed. “Everyone knows he’s a queer, and I’m not exactly surprised you’re one too, though if you’re saying he’s screwing _you_ , that’s kinda -”

 _“I am broken if you speak my name,”_ Ed interrupted, and Pinkney went mute, clutching at his throat in surprise the moment he noticed. Then he realized. Then he looked at Ed with frightened, incredulous eyes.

It was interesting watching the _silent_ shouts as Ed killed him with three carefully-placed blows. The clock was ticking.

When Oswald called, Ed had made it to his strategically parked car to change out of every bit of clothing that might have gotten spattered. He didn’t have fire-based powers to dispose of the other clothes, but he did have a lighter. 

Oswald sounded like he was vibrating out of his skin with anxiety.“Ed? How are you?”

“It’s done. I tricked Pinkney into signing a statement reporting Jim stealing drugs from the evidence locker, and the murder weapon has Jim’s fingerprints on it.” Ed’s first premeditated kill had gone beautifully and he hoped the triumph in his voice would make Oswald feel better.

“That’s great - wait, have you actually stolen drugs from the evidence locker?”

“Some of them help me control my visions,” Ed confessed, then immediately wished he hadn’t when Oswald sucked in a breath. 

“We’ll address at some point. Prince Mario’s back and now he’s in my way. I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Of course. Whose help would be better than yours?”

Ed couldn’t help but smile at that. “I am significantly ears.”

****

Lady Kathryn, Queen of the Court of Owls, cornered Jim on a balcony when he went to get some air and process these events. Imperiously and without preamble, she told him, “You will eliminate Prince Mario for us. Him on the throne would be undesirable for our interests. Ideally, we would be able to elect the Thane of Wayne, but Cobblepot is our least worst option.”

Jim stared. “Excuse me?” The second part almost drowned out the first. Almost.

“You heard me right. You’re an officer of the law and can make some excuse. We are also concerned about your loyalty and this will be the perfect way to prove yourself.” 

“And what if I don’t?”

She clicked her tongue. “It would be a shame if neither your child nor your wedding came to fruition, wouldn’t it?”

Jim held back a snarl. He knew it wasn’t a bluff. Even if Lee had come with him tonight, they would have taken her hostage anyway. Lady Montoya had not been wrong in her accusations against the Court. “When do you want it done?”

“Before the night is over. Best for it to be done quietly, so if your gun would blow your cover, here is a dagger for you.” Kathryn produced one from somewhere in the folds of her gown and handed it to him. It had a matte gray sheath and a twisted black handle.

Jim gripped it like it would float in the air and cut him otherwise. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”

“You have all the information you need, Courtier Gordon. My Talons will be keeping a close eye on your Leslie, and on you. Do not call her until the deed is done. This is your only warning.” She left him, moving like a ghost, and he thought he might have heard a wolf howl somewhere far away.

He failed, however, to notice the little black cat that had been watching and listening only a few feet away.

****

Theo Galavan had come into all of this with a relatively straightforward checklist:

1\. With the unseen assistance of his sister and her lover, kidnap and torture James until he gave up all rights to be elected for King, in writing.

2\. Same for Cobblepot. That would be a harder nut to crack. Taking a loved one hostage, if one could be found, or straight-up killing him might work better. His death should be the last resort, though, because if he could be bent to Galavan’s will he would be an excellent tool.

3\. Have Hearst simply killed, because even though she wasn’t much of a threat, she was a pesky, shrill creature. Dent was already no threat due to his lack of royal aspirations and would make a useful ally. 

4\. Kill Falcone.

5\. Become King.

6\. Implement his plans for Gotham’s radical changes.

7\. Including killing Lord Wayne, Thane of Enterprise, to avenge his ancestors' wrongs at the hands of the Waynes.

However, the reappearance of Prince Mario had thrown a wrench into Theo’s machinations. At least Tabitha and Barbara could still abduct Aubrey tonight on schedule. Perhaps he should go home early to draw up new plans and ready himself to receive their unwilling guest.

It would be better to finish his meal, though, and hobnob and smile and get the measure of everyone in the room. He didn’t need to check in with Tabitha for a few more hours.

Then Falcone and Mario both retired for the night and only a handful of guests were still lingering around the grand hall. Thane Aubrey was no longer around, but it was late enough that everyone assumed he must have just gotten tired and left. On his way to find a secluded place to check in with Tabitha, he noticed Lord Cobblepot, Thane of Van Dahl, and a reedy young man Theo didn’t recognize furtively making their way down a side corridor. Theo knew this place inside and out thanks to his sister’s powers of persuasion on a palace guard she’d acquired months ago. He knew they were headed towards one of the servant passageways that led straight to Falcone’s private chambers.

Hmm.

****

Ed squeezed Oswald’s hand before lighting the candle they’d bought from Bridgit. She swore that the flame would be visible only to them and nobody else. Ed used his mundane knowledge of wiring and some pliers to cut the lights to this one particular passageway, Bridgit and Ivy had disguised themselves in maid’s uniforms that Selina had stolen from the palace laundry room, and would dissuade real staff from stumbling upon them. 

_“Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head,”_ Ed whispered. That hadn’t been part of Bridgit’s instructions. Otherwise they moved as silently as they could. 

Oswald’s heart pounded in his ears. Selina said that he was the Court’s pick for King, and that the Court had ordered a hit on Mario. 

They’d bought from Ivy a sort of perfume grenade that would put both of Falcone’s bedroom guards to sleep and leave them with no memory of the half-hour before it happened. The original plan was to frame them for the murder of Falcone on behalf of Lady Mooney, who had been seen skulking around Gotham in recent months but whose exact whereabouts were unknown. Now, though, they would cast it as Mario’s plan, and Jim’s assassination of Mario would conveniently keep Mario from being able to defend the charge. The Court would probably be happy to go along with it. Ed would keep the supposed drug bust motive as backup. 

This was getting pretty convoluted. But success was within their reach.

****

Not many people knew Theo was as highly trained in combat and stealth as Tabitha, but chose not to use that training very often. Now, though, he edged up a drainpipe so he could peek through one of Falcone’s windows. Tabitha shot everyone who might spot Theo with crossbow, trusting Barbara to get James back to their penthouse.

He saw Cobblepot and his companion use an aerosolized potion to knock out Nikolai and Bones. He saw Cobblepot stab the sleeping Falcone a few times, then hand the knife to his companion, who took it with a look of wonder and gratitude and did a few stabs of his own. He saw them kiss.

Hmm.

****

Jim was not one for elaborate schemes. He left the palace, found a patch of shrubbery facing the prince’s private portion of the palace, and threw pebbles at one of the windows. If Mario was still the womanizer he had once been, he’d take this as an invitation to a tryst or something.

Sure enough, Mario opened the window and leaned out. “Not tonight, baby, I’m beat.”

Jim shot him between the eyes. Then he gave the finger to whichever Talon was tailing him, and ran for his car, taking his phone out of his pocket as he ran. He needed to talk to Lee, be with Lee, needed to be sure.

****

“I’m the King of Gotham,” Oswald whispered, looking down at what they’d done. "And I'll give you whatever title you want."

“Maybe let’s get out of here, wash our hands and so on, before you stand on a rooftop and shout it to the sky,” Ed whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kathryn = Hecate
> 
> Various Thanes = Various Thanes
> 
> Harvey Bullock = Siward, general of the English forces
> 
> Officer Pinkney = Young Siward
> 
> Tommy Bones and Nikolai = Duncan’s chamberlains
> 
> Barbara Kean = Lady Macduff


	3. Chapter 3

Four days after the coronation, six days in total after Falcone’s death, Harvey Bullock asked Jim to come into his office. He invited Jim to sit down. He poured each of them a drink from his special under-the-desk whiskey stash. He knew this would make Jim suspicious as hell, but the small things matter in friendship. The small things matter in not hating yourself forever. 

“Jim, I’m sorry I’ve had to keep you out of the loop when it comes to what went down during the Founders’ dinner, what with you technically being a witness.”

“I understand,” Jim said with tight, forced smile, not touching his drink.

Harvey took a deep breath. “We’ve come to...a….well, we have a theory. It’s not my theory, but I haven’t been able to provide a better one, and I can’t provide a better one and they have lots of evidence why theirs is good, well, we gotta go with that theory, you know? We gotta, we gotta test that theory, otherwise we don’t know it’s maybe the truth.” He could practically hear a phantom Nygma drift by and cheerfully tell him that he meant a _hypothesis_. One of the few advantages of Prince Nygma or Queen Nygma or whatever was his inability to be irritating around the precinct anymore, at least not constantly. 

Jim nodded slowly. “And you’re telling me what it is?”

“Yeah. Uh, so, it looks like Mario paid off his father’s guards to kill him, then gave them some kinda amnesia potion. They’re being let off easy for testifying against him and because they got their heads screwed with by magic, which casts the level of premeditation into reasonable doubt. Probably charges of accessory to regular murder rather than regicide.” The second carried death penalty, the first didn’t.

“You ever think what police work might be like if there wasn’t magic?” Jim shook his head ruefully and had a sip of his drink, a sip that might satisfy the thirst of an inchworm. 

“I know, right?” Harvey had a much larger sip of his own. To fortify himself. “We’re also thinking that Mario got killed because of someone trying to stop him from giving the order.”

“That would be a relatively sympathetic motive,” Jim replied, putting the glass back down.

“Yes. Unfortunately, pretty much everybody but me thinks that after you discovered Mario’s plans and you did that, you panicked and killed one of the guards who saw you leaving. Officer Pinkney, called in for extra security.” 

Jim went very still. “I see.”

Harvey wanted to crawl under that desk and drink the rest of the bottle, not come out again until the...the Thane of Wayne had been king for a few years or something. Instead, he took out his handcuffs. “Please don’t run, Jim, I don’t wanna have to chase you.”

Jim looked at him with weary resignation as Harvey told him the charges and read him his rights. He put up no resistance. 

While leading Jim out to the waiting arrest team, Harvey added low enough for only Jim to hear, _“I don’t buy it. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Something is rotten in the land of Gotham.”_

The moment he said it, that sounded vaguely off somehow. But that was nothing compared to having to do this to his former detective partner and current best friend. Harvey knew Cobblepot had it in for Jim. That was a good place to start.

****

King Oswald Cobblepot could not legally make a trio of known witches into Ladies in their own right (as opposed to by marriage). Instead he granted them land and assorted status and comfort, in general everything they wanted that money could buy and the Court of Owls could not forbid. For in practice, there were three significant constraints on the actions of the King: the support of the Court, the backing of the nobles, and the goodwill of the populace.

Well, and apparently he couldn’t provide zoning rights for an enormous cat sanctuary to be attached to the house. Ivy and Bridgit made this abundantly clear. 

Unable to appoint any of the girls, Oswald instead gave the position of Thane of Van Dahl to his most loyal guard and manservant ever since Oswald lured him away from the Maroni gang. Gabe appreciated the thought but didn’t quite know what to do with the position and constantly asked the exalted trio of streetwise oracles. Perfect. 

Ed, of course, got everything Oswald had, or better. His one major request was not only to be consort, but also Chief of Royal Affairs. Cheap pun notwithstanding. 

The night after the coronation, he said, “I want to be on your side, but I also want to stand alone on my own merits. They might not know I helped you kill Falcone but they will know I earn my keep.”

Oswald kissed him delicately and tidied his hair - at Oswald’s preference a little long, a little wild, so that at least one part of him would not be a coiled spring so tight as to vibrate constantly. “As you wish. Though I wish you would stop thinking of yourself in terms of how useful you are to people. Also...it’s not a matter of gossip, I don’t care about that, but I’m concerned why you constantly wear fingerless gloves now except in the shower. Did you hurt yourself and not want to worry me?”

Ed fidgeted and seemed to become very interested in a stray thread from the sofa, picking at it with his nails. Eventually he said, “I’ve been holding something back from you. Something that...upsets me. About myself.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“Okay. Um, okay.” Ed took a deep breath and glanced up at the ceiling. “I should be completely honest with you because you are my partner and I love and trust you, and I should stop evading your questions and hiding things from you.”

“Ideally, yes. I mean, you have a right to privacy, but I’m worried.” Oswald thought about taking Ed’s hand, since that had helped with a previous confession, but it would have been odd under the circumstances. 

“Here is my secret. I’m sorry I’ve kept it so long. I have been washing my hands to the point of severe and unsightly skin dryness, because.....because...I am autistic. And it’s a sensory...thing.” Then he cringed and wouldn’t look Oswald in the eye.

“Oh, that must be such a strain on you to hide,” Oswald said with feeling. “That’s part of what makes you the man I love. I understand if you want to keep this discreet, but you don’t need to be ashamed either. Alright?”

“Alright. Thank you.” A corner of Ed’s mouth quirked upwards.

“Are there other ways to support you that you’ve been afraid to ask for?”

Ed’s nervous reserve melted at that, and he looked at Oswald’s face, though not his eyes. He almost never looked anyone in the eye. “I’d like a tiny little house that only you, I, and the girls know about. Furnished with things from my old apartment. So I have a small, safe space to return to if I get overwhelmed. That’s also about the magic. When it wells up, sometimes it boils over. Would that be acceptable?”

Such simple things, such poignant things. “Yes, under one condition: Zsasz and his Family also know. Their code is to be loyal to the Crown no matter what, they are above the GCPD’s jurisdiction, they fear nobody, and they’ll protect us better than any other non-witches ever could.”

After some thought and a few bites of food, Ed said, “I agree. Though did you know the rumors that at least one of the Zsaszettes is in fact a witch?”

“I hadn’t.” They exchanged a smile, and moved on from Ed’s mind to the much simpler topic of running Gotham.

One might have said they were overconfident, but there had been far worse rules than that of Oswald Cobblepot. He was reasonably just, commanded the majority of the public’s love or at least acceptance, and Gotham had a slight uptick in prosperity. 

Too bad all this lasted five months.

****

It’s not like Ed didn’t know that wandering around alone, albeit armed, in the royal gardens at night without telling anyone was a bad idea. It was just so hard to find a place indoors where he could argue with his mirror self, especially without being interrupted or aggravated by all these apparitions of people and events that had happened in such an old, historic building. It wasn’t always practical to run over to his safe space. He knew the guard schedule well, knew where he wouldn’t be heard or seen.

Ed’s mother had told him very little about magic. She once said, though, that if he had to be cursed with visions it was better that his were largely for the past. She herself could see flashes of the future and wished she couldn’t. Perhaps if she hadn’t been able to, things would have ended differently for her. 

Would it have done any good to have either psychically or physically seen the woman who was about to strike, about to coil her whip around his neck? And kick him and disarm him before he could get a shot in, and render him unconscious before he had time to make a sound significantly different from a pounced-on mouse?

He woke to freezing hot ache around neck, blurry vision, and a female voice saying, “Actually, I think he looks kinda cute without the glasses. Like a baby hawk that might actually be fierce one day if he gets the chance.”

Another female voice said with displeasure, yet a touch of fondness, “Do you need a moment to go compose yourself?”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, Tabby.”

Ed looked as discreetly as he could and managed to establish that the one addressed as “Tabby” wore a lot of black and had long black hair and dark skin. The one making disquieting comments was pale, blonde, and wore bright colors. That was the best he could do with the naked eye. He hoped they hadn’t destroyed those glasses. It was hard finding those particular retro frames.

“Ladies, he’s awake.”

That last one Ed knew. Lord Galavan, Thane of Dumas. Oswald had warned him of Ivy’s prophecy, but either stupidly or self-deprecatingly (likely both) it hadn’t occurred to him that this might mean Galavan hurting Oswald _through Ed_.

“I’m not going to betray Oswald,” Ed gritted out over the roar what he could now tell was a short length of iron chain, rather fine, almost like a necklace. He was bound to the chair with basic rope, though expertly knotted.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Who said anything about you doing anything?” Galavan stepped closer and lifted a part of the chain with his right thumb and forefinger. “Interesting, your skin’s already reddened after just a few minutes, and you look about ready to cry. Tabitha, you owe me and Barbara fifty dollars each. See, Nygma, I figure like draws to like, and it is extraordinarily difficult to find any records of your parents. It’s completely eluded us. We could only think of a few possible reasons. Not that it matters for us tonight, but these two love a side bet.”

“I thought a witchbreed would be tougher than this,” Tabitha grumbled.

“There are different kinds of toughness,” Galavan said. “Including with witchbreeds.”

Barbara cleared her throat. “Not disagreeing with the general gist, but the ‘wb’ word is kinda not a word people use after fifth grade?”

“Don’t undermine me or Tabitha in front of other people. Ideally not ever, but you’re practically family so I do sometimes let it slide.” Galavan leaned in closer than Ed would ever want, but it turned out to be to remove the chain. Good. Yes. “We’re going to hurt you, Edward, make no mistake, but no point in it being something that won’t photograph well. One must have a starting point from which to escalate if needed, and my curiosity is satisfied. ”

“I have a fresh new camera for the party!” Barbara exulted, holding up a black blob.

Galavan chuckled indulgently. “Don’t get too carried away like you did with our previous guest.”

“He’s still walking and talking fine,” Tabitha argued.

“But he’s become addicted to pastries to the point of exacerbating his pre-existing blood sugar condition. I don’t even want to know how that happened. I want some suitable pictures on my desk in my study by dawn. No more than a dozen. I have work to do.”

“Goodnight, brother,” Tabitha said as he departed. Then she turned to Barbara. “You’re the one who knows about art, Barb, why don’t you direct for once?”

“Ooh, well, I think…”

Ed interrupted, “Wait, knows about art - Barbara Kean?”

“What’s it to you?” Barbara asked, her expression unreadable to him because he couldn’t see, argh. 

“It’s just that I remember how Jim Gordon used to moon over you - in that stoic, tough-guy way, where he’d mention you or someone else would and he’d get a little spark in his eye and smile slightly. Then you left him for Lady Montoya for like...two weeks? And he did the stoic tough-guy equivalent of sobbing all over the place, which was making constipated faces and being worse at masking his pity and disdain towards me than usual. But then he met Lee, and I thought he’d mooned over _you_ but that absolutely paled compared to...”

Tabitha's whip hit him in the sternum. He was used to it being the back.

“How does that work for photos?” Barbara asked.

“I’m gonna cut his shirt off.” Tabitha pulled a knife out of her belt. “Maybe some shallow cuts elsewhere. Do you think one black eye looks better than two?”

"I think asymmetry looks more off-kilter and pitiful," Barbara said. "I'm using color, so you should experiment with different bruising, try to get a variety." 

_Are you a masochist, provoking them like that?_ Kristen’s phantom asked him from the corner of the room. 

_Can’t talk, busy being beat up,_ Ed thought in Kristen’s direction. At least it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t wash his hands right now. At least he’d had practice taking a beating: minimizing damage by flowing with rather than tensing against the blows, going somewhere better in his mind.

At least if Kristen would go away. Unlike the women who were really there, he could see her face with perfect clarity regardless of distance. _Or is this your idea of penance, speaking up for the lover of a man you’ve wronged far more than Ms. Kean ever has?_

****

Jim’s trial had been pushed back, and the end of his days and the dawn of his nights pushed back, and back. Lee brought him some books during her visits and kept a brave face on things. Harvey brought him news about himself specifically and newspapers to track outside events. His lawyer brought him a lot of paperwork that seemed increasingly pointless. He did as many pushups and situps and sundry as he could each day, and drank in the sky during his supervised time in the exercise yard. Nobody from the Court of Owls visited or sent word. He wasn’t surprised. 

Before his arrest, he’d told Lee why he’d killed Mario and that he really hadn’t killed Pinkney, and told her to tell nobody. 

“Even if I can’t clear your name on my own, knowing you’re an innocent man is making all the difference in my ability to bear this,” she said more than once. She’d also taken the wise measure of asking for a few months off and reducing the amount of scrutiny she’d had to endure. To have something rewarding to do in the meantime, she was volunteering twice a week at a free clinic for Gothamites living lives too rugged and challenging to pay much attention to government scandals.

Except for the visits, for five months the days were monotonous. Then one day he was escorted back to his cell, only to find Victor Zsasz, elite assassin for the Crown, sitting on his bunk and flipping through one of the mystery novels Lee was lending him.

“Hi. Hope you don’t mind. Helped myself.” He looked up. “Relax, I’m here to take you alive.”

“That’s a very broad category. A man with no hands can still be alive.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that, Jim. It’s been over a year since we’ve chopped a hand off someone we were planning to keep alive.”

Jim turned to see what the guard was doing. The Asian-looking Zsaszette who’d just knocked him out waved pleasantly. “Who wants to talk to me and why?”

Zsasz tossed the book over his shoulder and got to his feet. “Aren’t you just happy to have the chance of a change of scenery? Good job killing Mario - I never liked him. But if you keep wasting time, some of my people might get hurt fighting the undercover Talons who’ve been watching to make sure you didn’t squeal on the Court for putting you up to it. Like, literally, right now, lots of Talon fighting. My crew getting hurt needlessly would make me unhappy. Might be less gentle in getting you where we’re going. Got it?”

The screams and gunshots from down the hall made the decision easier. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a gun to carry?”

“You can have a club off that unconscious dude. Yoona?”

The woman opened the door with the stolen keys and handed Jim the stolen nightstick. “Gonna give backup.”

_“WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOU CLAWBOYS?”_

Yoona cocked her head. “Definitely Candy. You got this, Vic?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zsasz drew one of his guns, though he didn’t raise it just yet. “Now, Detective, when I say run, run!”

****

The messenger was wise to run once he’d delivered the package to the king’s hands. Oswald canceled all his appointments. He dismissed his bodyguard. He drove himself to talk to his oracles.

“Galavan wants me to sign a confession to regicide in exchange for Ed, and he says he’ll give the two of us twenty-four hours to leave Gotham forever and he’ll say we escaped arrest.”

Brigit said, “Those pictures were made to shock you.”

Selina said, “He’s lying.”

Ivy sighed and said, “You’re gonna do it anyway.”

Oswald raised an eyebrow, though his face was still gray. “Not without some _strategy_ , what do you take me for?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two of the spells here are taken from _Macbeth_ and only slightly tweaked. The more riddle-shaped ones are my own devising.
> 
> This chapter features an interpretation of the Zsasz Family I first portrayed in [The Other Tally](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10844019) and consistently use when called for. And have lent out, on occasion.

Tabitha eventually ran out of places on Ed’s head and chest she could safely visibly wound. Barbara offered to help Tabitha arrange him differently.

First Tabitha tapped Ed’s cheek. “Try anything and I will strip you to your underwear and wrap you in iron chains for hours, got it?” 

“Yes,” Ed said quietly. His guess that they were going to tie his wrists from a short length of rope to a hook in the ceiling was correct. The rest of his shirt was cut away and the women moved to regard his back.

Barbara whistled. “No wonder you’re hardly making a peep, Eddie. Who did that to you? They’re too old to be from _extreme_ fun and games with your sugar daddy.”

“Given that wince, I’d say it was his real daddy,” Tabitha commented. “Guess I’ll have to step it up so Penguin can tell these are new marks.”

A bit later, Barbara said, “Hold on, what are you mumbling?”

“I’m praying. That allowed?” The magic always came out most strongly under pain or stress. He needed to channel it so it wouldn’t manifest too obviously in front of these two. So he was, in a sense, praying, but not to any deity, and with a bit of oomph behind it. _“In riddles and affairs of death, persist as long as I draw breath. Your vessels and your spells provide, your charms and everything besides...”_

He dressed it up in rhymes and pretty words, but it really came down to a two-word plea. _Find me._

He was woozy and incoherent when they finally rubbed some antiseptic into anywhere the skin had broken and bandaged anything bleeding. Two guards came in to cut him down and move the ragdoll he’d become. They gave him a new old shirt. Old new shirt? 

_New to this prisoner, old to time, what am I? This shirt._ Not much of a riddle.

He ended up in a cell so small and exposed as to feel more like a cage, all the bars iron. It would make it more difficult for his allies to find him if their magic couldn’t reach him. There was a pitcher of water and a cup, and some kind of food on a covered plate he was uninterested in investigating right now. A roundish object in a corner turned out to be a chamber pot. He waited for the gloveless guard to leave and the one with one black glove to turn around - that was courteous, at least - before using it. Then he expended the last of his strength to move the mat and blanket far enough in the center of the cage to avoid touching the bars. He had to lie on his side to avoid aggravating his injuries, but he was exhausted enough to mercifully fall asleep.

When he woke, No Gloves was there watching him impassively, gun at the ready. Ed wrapped the blanket tighter around his torso and shuffled to the table. The food was some stale but not moldy bread, a piece of cheese, and an apple. As the one non-medieval touch, there was an incongruous little bowl of cherry Jello. Ed felt irrationally disappointed it wasn’t lime. He could do with something green to look at and ground him. He carefully tucked the plastic spoon into the waistband of his pants when he was done. Maybe he could improvise with that.

He lay dozing for several hours until Black Glove showed up with a new tray. No Gloves said, “Slide the old tray under the bars.”

Ed complied slowly and carefully, and was about to scurry backwards when No Gloves frowned and asked, “Where’s the spoon?”

“Um, oh dear, it must have slipped into a crack in the floor.”

“A crack in the smooth concrete floor.”

“I guess so.” Ed tried for a baffled smile. Instead No Gloves grabbed him by the neck with both hands and pressed his face against the bars. Ow. Ow. Ow, no, no, ow ow ow ow.

“Never tried anything like this before. I can actually hear a bit of a sizzle, huh,” No Gloves remarked. “Give me the spoon or we’re gonna tie you right up against these for the rest of your stay.”

“Okay! Sorry!” Ed tried to retrieve it, but his hands were shaking too badly.

Black Glove spoke up. “Let him go, Leonard, let him breathe.”

Ed nearly toppled backwards but managed to hand the spoon over before staggering to the table with the water. Nice cool water. It wouldn’t wash away the pain, but it would be a soothing sensation to have water on his cheek. He could wet a corner of shirt to use as a washcloth. If only there were some ice cubes in there.

“Give him his other tray, Gilzean, I’m off the clock.” No Gloves/Leonard left.

Once Gilzean had resumed his post, Ed announced he was going to pee, knowing that Gilzean (unlike Leonard) would give him a moment of privacy. In fact he needed to verify something big.

If you took a witch and put her in an iron cage, one hundred percent guaranteed, she would be unable to affect anything outside that cage using magic. As far as the limited data indicated, it was about eighty percent guaranteed she wouldn’t be able to use magic at all.

Not a hundred percent.

Inside a jug of tepid water, Ed had just produced two perfect ice cubes.

****

On waking, Jim noticed the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. Also an odd clicking. He sat up.

“Hello, Detective,” said the tall, athletically built dark-skinned woman with a magenta streak in her hair whom he remembered from the battle to spring him from Blackgate. She was dressed down in regular, casual clothing now, and knitting with sunflower-yellow yarn. “We had to sedate you for the last part of the trip. You weren’t allowed to know how to get here, and also you got a bullet graze and wouldn’t sit down and shut up and stop aggravating it. We’ve got our own doctor. She patched you up.”

“Where am I?”

“Safehouse. Not our place, no way we’d let you go there. Consider it house arrest or real protective custody.” Click click. “I’m keeping you from running off, but I’m hoping to do it nicely. Bridgit Pike, the fire witch, and my fellow Zsaszette Thistle are on duty to keep people out.”

“So I’ve just gone from one prison to another?” Jim realized this wasn’t entirely fair, at least if Zsasz was telling the truth about his crew not planning to kill him. 

The door opened. “Well, in this one you’re not alone.”

It was Lee. It was Lee smiling. It was Lee smiling _with their baby_. 

“You agreed to the last three names I was trying to choose from, so I figure you’d be all right with settling on Cassandra,” she said, coming closer. “Do you want to hold her?”

Speechless, Jim just held out his arms in a way he knew was appropriate from previous baby encounters. A drowsy green-wrapped bundle opened her eyes and looked up at him with what he interpreted as a critical gaze. “I lost track,” he finally said, lamely.

“I was going to remind you next visit. She’s slightly early but not enough for it to be a huge problem. Dr. Kali, who played midwife, says she hasn’t always been a mob doctor. I must say, regardless of my opinions about their career, these people have all been very kind.” She kissed Jim on the cheek. “Though I’m starting to worry if I let Candy near her again I’m never getting her back.”

“Candy does have these weird bouts of baby fever,” the Zsaszette agreed.

“Leonara is less into babies, but she’s making a little hat,” Lee said.

“It’s always good to have something you can do during a stakeout that usually people don’t hear unless it’s super quiet otherwise and they’re only a few feet away,” Leonara said. Click click click. “I would use wooden needles then. I’ll be just outside this room, now that Jim sees two good reasons to stay put.”

“Thistle, who doesn’t seem to sleep very much, fashioned a bassinet inside a drawer in every room with one, including Zsasz’s for some perturbing reason.” Lee got up to pull out one of the drawers. Jim went with her and saw that it was softly lined. “I nursed and changed her recently. You can put her in there. I want you to hold _me_ now.”

Jim reveled in the simple, precious pleasure of lying beside Lee and cuddling together. For a few seconds. Then he had to ask. “What the hell is going on?”

She chuckled ruefully. “You couldn’t have made it a full minute?”

“Sorry. I’ve just had a lot of killing or being killed.”

“Cobblepot learned that Lord Galavan might try to manipulate you as a pawn against him. He was certain the manipulation would involve me and Cassandra. He already knew you were surrounded with undercover Talons. We’re supposed to stay hidden away until Galavan’s been dealt with. Cobblepot will talk pardoning options with us if we cooperate.”

Jim pressed his face against her shoulder. He hadn’t been confident he’d ever do that again. “What makes you believe he’ll really do that?” In case anyone was listening, he didn’t add his conviction that Cobblepot was a major force pulling the strings behind Jim’s...conviction. 

Leslie’s voice turned very serious and she looked Jim right in the eye. “Because Galavan took Nygma. And the Penguin will do anything for anyone who helps him with the kind of vengeance he’s planning. Even if it’s just trust him enough to get out of the way.”

****

Cobblepot probably wanted to send a whole army to rescue his man, but he also wanted to keep all this quiet and between people he trusted. Most of those were busy. Bridgit, Thistle, and Leonara were babysitting Gordon, Thompkins, and the literal baby. Ivy, Yoona, and surprise ex-KGB operative Olga were questioning the captured Talon now held in the Basement of Zsasz. 

Upshot was that the rescue party consisted of Selina, Zsasz, Candy, and a young guy named Nefyn who said he preferred to be called a “Zsaszeur”. Dr. Kali was going with them in the care, but wouldn’t actually go into the potential fight unless called. Her gift was primarily for healing, though she could sustain defensive shields for a few minutes at a time. 

Selina liked the smaller numbers, though. More her style. 

Kali was driving, since she would stay with the car. “You saw the building in your vision, but how do you know where it is?”

“I wander a lot,” Selina said. “Two feet or four.”

“How do you know it’s related to Nygma?” Zsasz asked. He kept fiddling with the air conditioning.

Nefyn looked at her face and said, “Let it be, sir.”

In her vision, the building had been covered in curly green question marks. To her, alone, so had Nygma’s hands the one time she’d seen them uncovered. She wondered if he could see them too and was trying to scrub them off with all his handwashing, but sensed he’d pitch a fit if asked.

Kali parked where Selina told her to. She lifted up a charm she habitually wore around her neck and pressed it between her hands. For some, the line between witchcraft and holy miracle work was very thin. 

She said, “This is in English rather than Bengali so you will know what I’m trying for. She’ll know regardless. _The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about. Thrice to thine and thrice to mine. And thrice again, to make up nine. My goddess hear my humble spell, that all my warriors may be well._ ”

“Love you, Doc,” Zsasz said over his shoulder as he sprang out the door. 

****

Seconds before Zsasz and company broke into the room, Leonard tried to take Ed hostage. Ed used the mattress as a shield, forcing Leonard to pre-emptively enter the cage to have a good chance of landing a shot on Ed before someone could get a shot at him.

“If we’re both in here, your witch friends can’t reach us,” Leonard said, closing the door behind them but not bothering to lock it. 

“If you’re in here, then I can reach you.” 

“What?”

“ _A larger organ than your lungs…_ ” Ed had been thinking about it all this time, but his vision was green around the edges and his hands slippering, burning, but he grabbed Leonard’s ankle and pushed up the pant leg to reach bare flesh. And held. “ _My senses sweeter than your tongue, and I…and I am...STRIPPED._ ”

He was fairly sure the screaming wasn’t his own. As he was passing out, he heard Zsasz say, “Dammmmmn,” and Selina say, “Maybe I should have mentioned…”

****

“...so we get in there and see Leonard’s covered in these marks, like, totally looks like strips of flesh all over his body were flayed off in the shape of question marks, Your Majesty,” Candy concluded. “He’s with the interrogation squad now but they have to let him recover a bit before he’ll be useful. Magic-caused injuries -”

“Are less responsive to magic healing, I know,” Oswald said. He’d gotten back from his attempted meeting with Galavan as soon as he could, and dismissed Bridgit for now. She was likely doing her own debriefing with Selina. 

Nefyn gave a tentative little bow. “We won’t blab. Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oswald said, just shy of snapping. 

The young man took one of his knives from his belt. He balanced the point on the very tip of his right index finger. Then he took his finger away. The knife remained in place. He gave Oswald a slightly sad smile. “We won’t blab. Don’t worry about that. Go see yours, your Lordship.”

“Oh!” That might be a relief for Ed in general. It was certainly a relief for Oswald when it came to confidence in the Zsasz Family’s discretion.

“That boy is showoff if you encourage him,” Olga said as she approached. She accompanied Oswald up the stairs. “I finish helping with Talon, and your Edward is familiar with me, so I came here. Dr. Kali was able to heal the mundane of injuries. She spent herself, is resting with Yoona. I watch him.”

“Thank you,” Oswald said, moving slowly with his cane. His leg particularly hurt with today’s cold and stress. He was very grateful he’d indulged Ed’s request for somewhere secret and safe.

Before letting him into (his own shared) bedroom, Olga added, “He woke once for a few minutes before sleeping again. Kali said he tired himself to need at least another ten hours to sleep. He does this with his hands.” She did a hand-washing motion.

“Let me see.”

“I know someone who can maybe help.”

“Just let me see, please.”

Ed looked better than he had in those accursed photos, at least. No marks except a red line around his neck and a blister-shiny vertical streak of what looked like a chemical burn down his left cheek. But he was paler than usual and covered in goosebumps, though the room was warm and he’d been piled high with blankets. The covers were moving in one spot. Oswald peeled them back. Yes, hand-washing motions. Someone had taped cozy hand-knit purple mittens on him for safety.

“Love, what are you doing?” Oswald whispered.

“ _To bed, to bed! There’s knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed!_ ”

Oswald sighed. “I don’t like it when he speaks in iambic pentameter, either. Sleep-talking or not. Who do you think could help him?”

“He counsels witches, helps them live among others. He helped my niece get a job. Lucius Fox.”

“Fine, I’ll let you use your judgment.” The house was crawling with deadly people. Also a new mother and a baby, but normal people would hesitate before hurting either of those.

“Will you not stay?” Olga asked, with a hit of disapproval. She worked for Gabe now - was doing even more than the witch girls were in keeping the Thane of Van Dahl position from caving in - but hadn’t stopped tough-love mothering Oswald.

Oswald leaned down to kiss Ed’s forehead. “I just remembered I have someone I need to kill. If I woke him and started talking to him now, I’d be here forever.”

****

Jim knew he’d eventually get tired of just sitting and staring at Lee nursing Cassandra, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“I feel like I should be whittling little tribute figurines to lay around you in a circle or something,” he said.

Lee laughed. “I knew you had something soft in you still.”

“That’s slander. You could go to court over that.”

Then a knock on the door. “I’ve got a boob out to feed a child; that’s your problem not mine!” Lee shouted.

Cobblepot opened the door. “Fine by me. Glad the child is healthy, congratulations, I need Jim.”

“What do you need?” Then Jim grudgingly added, “Your Majesty?”

“Galavan didn’t show up to the meeting I called with him, probably because he found out Zsasz had already retrieved his insurance. I need you to let him think you escaped Blackgate and are defecting towards his uprising against me. Then you’ll lure him into a trap and help me kill him. You’ll get a full pardon and as much wealth or influence as you want in addition to being allowed to quit the Court of Owls. You can investigate the Court. Whatever, help me get the Thane of Dumbass.”

****

It hadn’t been easy for Butch Gilzean to escape the fight, but he’d developed a healthy fear of Zsasz ever since, on Falcone’s orders, the man spent a few weeks torturing him in a basement before selling him to the Dollmaker.

Butch had lost one hand to the Dollmaker before Lady Fish Mooney had liberated the island, having herself lost one eye in the fight. She’d ordered him given a new one, but it didn’t look exactly the same as the other and he was self-conscious about it. Her new lieutenant Kelly had chosen to simply not have his missing arm replaced, saying the alternative creeped him out too much. 

The Dollmaker unwillingly told them about his partnership with Indian Hill, back in Gotham, underneath Arkham Asylum. Fish took Kelly and whoever was willing to join them to investigate and conquer, but had asked Butch to be her spy on the outside.

"Let's get ready to march on City Hall,” he said the moment he returned to safety and saw her, her blue eye as keenly fixed upon him as her brown one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is named after both Cassandra Cain, one of the Batgirls who came after Barbara Gordon (the one of Asian descent!), and the mythological Cassandra who prophesied the future but was never believed. 
> 
> I had to namedrop Kelly from the Dollmaker's Island. I like him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that a few of these character correlations have evolved to be even more specific:
> 
> Lucius Fox = Doctor who treats Lady Macbeth
> 
> Dr. Kali = Doctor at court
> 
> Nefyn = not just one of the Murderers, but the Third Murderer who shows up late
> 
> New character and correlation explained in the end notes!

Perhaps shoving an umbrella down Galavan’s throat was excessive. Jim certainly thought so, from his face. On the other hand, Oswald thought he’d sleep easier tonight for it.

“I’ll get back to work tomorrow in a much better mood,” Oswald said as Bridgit incinerated the remains for them, umbrella and all. They were in a patch of isolated woods, but she could easily keep the flames contained and not start a forest fire. 

“You promised a pardon,” Jim said. He was standing at attention like a good soldier, and watching the impromptu pyre like a shell-shocked soldier.

“Right, give me a second. I’ll put it on speaker.” Oswald took out his phone and called his head secretary. He didn’t actually like Tarquin Stemmel very much, but he’d inherited him from Falcone’s administration, and one did need people around who knew how it all worked.

Tarquin sounded squeaky on the other end of the line. “Hello, Your Majesty? Are you and the Chief of Royal Affairs feeling better?”

“Unfortunately he’s still laid up, but I’m feeling well enough that my personal doctor had cleared me for light kinging tomorrow.” Oswald could see Bridgit snort.

After two seconds, Tarquin laughed obsequiously. “Great. Is there something I can do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I need a letter of pardon drawn up so I can sign it first thing in the morning. Standard language. Complete exoneration with a bag of gold thrown in. Like, ten pounds of gold.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Who for?”

“Detective James Gordon of the GCPD. After some thought I have been moved to pity by his circumstances and believe he acted rashly, but with noble intentions, and is fit to return to society.”

Tarquin’s voice went soft and sad. “Oh, but haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“He died trying to escape his cell yesterday. Guards were forced to shoot him when he wouldn’t comply.”

“What the hell?” Jim growled, then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth.

“Who was that?” Tarquin asked.

“Nobody! One of my household staff, I mean, whom I will reprimand for such coarse language. Then draw up a posthumous exoneration, with fifteen pounds of gold for his bereaved next-of-kin.”

There was a long, long pause. “Yes, of course. Your Majesty.”

Oswald hung up.

Bridgit extinguished her flames and nudged the pile of ashes with her toe. “Maybe let’s get back to safety before we freak out.”

Through gritted teeth, Oswald said, “Blackgate doesn’t announce that kind of information to anyone outside of law enforcement and next-of-kin unless by direct royal order. I think we need to talk to Tarquin, wouldn’t you agree, Jim?”

Jim sighed, then nodded as well. “Sorry I gave myself away a bit.”

“Apologize to your family,” Oswald suggested, leading the way back to the discreet car, leaning heavily on his cane. “Though I do mean it about the gold, regardless. Helping me dispatch Galavan has significantly redeemed you to me.”

_None shall harm Cobblepot but Galavan._

****

Ed woke to the sound of crying. “What is that?”

“Leslie Thompkins had a baby,” Olga responded. Good, Olga’s presence meant he was on familiar territory. Congratulations to Dr. Thompkins. He might even say so at some point. “Here are your glasses.”

He put them on. “Where’s Oswald?”

“He went to kill Galavan for you.”

“Oh.” Something tugged at a corner of his memory, but he couldn’t quite reach it. He sat up. “I’m in a lot less pain than I expected.”

“Kali healed you. Wasted a lot of power on non-endangering wounds, in my opinion.”

“Ah, it’s good to see you again,” Ed replied, more sincerely than his tone suggested. He looked at his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to put mittens like these on newborns? Has there been a mixup? Why are they taped on?”

“You do this in your sleep,” Olga scolded, mimicking the handwashing that had become increasingly frequent and frantic.

“Crud.”

“Not like the newborns, you have thumbs on mittens. I called someone to see you. To help.”

“What?”

“I will let him in. Leave you two alone.”

“What?!”

The stranger was dark-skinned and gray-suited. A tidy man, a self-contained man. He exchanged a few whispered words with Olga before she left. “Hello, my name is Lucius Fox. May I call you simply Nygma, rather than a formal title?

“If I can call you ‘Foxy’,” Ed said grumpily, reaching for a glass of water with a stripey straw in it and grasping in an awkward manner.

Foxy smiled slightly. “I’ve been called worse.” He took a seat by the bed. 

“What exactly did Olga ask you to do?”

“She spoke of a case of compulsive - in fact self-harming - behavior that might be resulting from severe magic repression and sudden overuse under stress.”

Ed laughed so hard he almost got water up his nose. “She’s - well, she’s right, but it’s not about what happened to me recently.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Instead of handing Ed the business card, Foxy just held it up. _LUCIUS FOX: EMPATH & GIFTED-FOLK INTEGRATION COUNSELOR._ Followed by contact information.

“Don’t you have to go through an enormous amount of childhood or adolescent trauma to become an empath?” Ed needled further. He disliked being so much more vulnerable than the other person in the room.

“Not a regular empath who simply feels others’ emotions, no. Projection empaths are empaths whose spirits have been cracked wide open, and leak. They can supernaturally make people feel things, though only what they are currently feeling to at least some degree.” Foxy coughed. “Speaking of feeling others, come out of the closet, young man, this is a private conversation.”

A lean, unimposing kid with dark hair and green eyes emerged with an apologetic smile. Especially given the amount of black he was wearing and the knife on his belt, Ed concluded he was one of Zsasz’s. “Are you a male Zsaszette?” He’d only seen an East Asian woman, an African-American woman, and a tall and pale blonde woman with gray eyes previously. All these powerful women coming in threes. (He knew there was a female apprentice around here somewhere, but apprentices were like interns. Not quite people yet, though they would be eventually.) Then there was Dr. Kali, Dr. Thompkins, and Impromptu Nurse Olga…

“I like ‘Zsaszeur’, sir. Sorry to intrude, gentlemen, it’s just that I remember what it was like when I found out about myself, and how people treated me. Sometimes how they still do. I couldn’t stay away until I saw you awake.” At which point he tossed the knife in the air and dropped it back down again. Without using his hands. “It only works with my own belongings. Only something I could lift normally. Not nearly as powerful as any of your oracles. Now, you, you’ve got ghosts, sir. You don’t see the past - you see what lingers.”

“What do you see?” Foxy asked. Ed was too startled to say a word.

“The obvious. Seriously, that’s my form of Sight. More useful than you’d think. I’ll bring you something to eat in a bit, since you’re hangry. I promised to keep an eye on the baby so Dr. Thompkins can shower.” He bowed and left.

After staring at the closed door for a while, Ed said, “I don’t know what ‘hangry’ means.”

“It means ‘irritable because you’re hungry’,” Foxy said. “Do you feel any better knowing you’re not alone?”

“I feel better that I’m not alone but worse that I didn’t know sooner.” Ed really wanted to wash his hands again. 

“What are you trying to wash off?” Foxy asked. “This stays between us. No matter what you say.”

“No matter?”

“You’re carrying something so heavy that it’s crushing the breath out of you. What are you trying to wash off?”

Oswald knew part of it, at least, and if sharing could really make Ed stop, it would be worth it. “The blood of a woman I killed by accident. I was frightened. I lost control.”

Foxy expressed no alarm. He scooted his chair closer. “Could you please give me a history of your relationship with your own magic?”

****

On the way to City Hall, Oswald called Ivy and Selina and told them to join him in the secret Royal Panic Room near his private office, and gave them directions. He needed Ivy to get the truth out of Tarquin and Selina in case anything he said matched up with a vision of the present. He also called Zsasz to drive the girls - Selina knew how to drive, but Oswald didn’t trust her - and to help subdue Tarquin.

It proved to be rather simple. Jim stayed hidden but in earshot. They learned the following things: Tarquin was actually Kathryn’s lackey. What he’d said about Jim Gordon was exactly what he’d been told. He didn’t know why. He did know that the Court was reconsidering their support of Oswald, in light of their growing belief that _he_ had killed Falcone, and also because of his unseemly enthusiasm for witchcraft. Despite Kathryn, unsurprisingly, being a witch herself. She’d been holding meetings with someone else. Tarquin didn’t know who. Someone with a powerful army of their own, an underground force more strange than Gotham had ever seen.

Up on her perch on top of a filing cabinet full of top-secret documents, Selina shivered all over. “Something wicked this way comes.”

Bridget scowled. “But not all wicked. Most of them are victims.”

Oswald was about to demand an explanation, then Ivy started nervously chewing on her nails. “Um, do you remember that prophecy I made? Just me?”

“Right.” Oswald counted to ten in his mind. “Tarquin, if you want to live, drink the amnesia poison Ivy is about to give you. I would love to kill you but at this juncture your disappearance would only make things worse. Zsasz, put Mr. Stemmel somewhere plausible for him to wake up.” 

Tarquin took the deal. Zsasz cheerfully untied him once the sedative part kicked in, slung him over one shoulder, saluted, and carried him off. 

Selina hopped down and hugged Bridget. “Sorry that came out the wrong way, Firefly.” Oswald hadn’t heard that nickname before, let alone heard Selina speak so tenderly.

“Thanks for getting me out, Cat,” Bridget said softly, hugging back.

Ivy sat in the chair they’d been keeping Tarquin in. “Gordon can join us now. Don’t be mad, Penguin. I told you I didn’t know what I meant by Indian Hill marching to City Hall. I didn’t, but I had some idea.”

“Before you get mad, would you have freely told anyone about Mr. Nygma’s parents?” Bridget shifted so she was no longer hugging Selina, but now holding hands with her. Oswald pushed aside his distress at what the young witch might know. That was for later.

“This concerns you, then,” Jim said emerging from a closet and taking a seat at the round table in the middle of the room. The girls ended up piling on the sofa against the wall in a cuddly heap. Oswald took another seat at the table and sipped on one of the bottles of water that had been stashed down here. 

“In both senses of the word,” Bridget said drily. “They say Indian Hill is a toxic waste dump, but it isn’t. It’s where Gifted people, not just witches, get tortured and twisted. To make them good tools.”

“Or weapons,” Jim extrapolated.

“Yeah. I was able to break the mind control because I could see the past and see the lies in what they said. Cat found me and helped me escape.”

“They were in Falcone’s pay,” Ivy said. 

“Why didn’t you tell me when I became king?” Oswald asked, trying not to lose his temper with a valuable resource - one he was also rather fond of.

“Because you’d want to fight them. If you fought them and lost, they might take us!” the trio chorused in perfect unison. It was always creepy when they did that.

Naturally, that was when the emergency loudspeaker crackled to life. “CODE TOIL AND TROUBLE. REPEAT, CODE TOIL AND TROUBLE.”

Selina hissed. “Like I said. Something - uh, challenging - this way comes.”

****

While he’d shared a few scraps with Oswald, Ed had never told anyone the full story before. He found that once he’d started it was difficult to stop. He began from the first moment he became aware that he could do unusual things, all the way until Dougherty and Kirsten, both dead because he was frightened and out of control. Foxy helped him remove the mittens so he could eat the food the other warlock silently brought them. 

“Let’s address Mr. Leonard later,” Foxy said. “Thank you for being so open with me. It’s making my job easier. You mentioned that you’ve been haunted a specter that resembles yourself, that taunts and insults you.”

“Yes. For years now, but more and more often.”

“You’re not the first person I’ve talked to with this problem.”

Ed’s mouth was full at this point - he’d been much hungrier than he’d realized, which Foxy said was a side effect of a burst of power - but he raised his eyebrows and made an inquisitive noise.

“He’s your magic, Nygma. He’s what you’ve pushed down, pushed away, hated, repressed and repressed. You hate him, so he hates you. It’s been slowly driving you insane, and it’s accelerating. Can you see him now? Do you see him now?”

Ed shook his head.

“What’s his name?”

“I generally call him Mirror Ed...”

“Yes, but what’s his name?”

“I don’t know.” Ed glanced at his hands and wished he hadn’t. 

Foxy glanced at them too. “You regret other things in your life. No person, no matter how good, regrets only one thing.”

“That is very true.”

“What do you call the specter that looks like her?”

Ed had some idea where this was going. “Ghost Kristen. I’ve never asked for a name.”

“Try asking them. Come to them in a spirit of compassion. They’re you, as strange as that sounds. Unnatural deeds do bring unnatural troubles.”

“Give me a moment. When I do magic on purpose, it’s through riddles, rhyme, or blank verse.” Ed put down his fork.

“Edward.” Foxy held up a hand without judgment. It was a pause. “This isn’t magic. This is you addressing your magic. This is _therapy._ Be straightforward.”

“Okay.”

“You’re afraid. That’s all right. Don’t fight that either. Just say what you’ve been secretly always wanting to. Keep your hands where I can see them, please.”

Ed took a deep breath. “Come, you spirits that tend on my mortal thoughts. Take away my need to ‘be a man’. Help me let go of what my father said, what society says, about what it is to be a man, and what it is to be a woman, and how it’s wrong to mix them and just - just be. My fear of loss of control, of weakness and rejection, they’ve all been wrapped up with you, haven’t they? Let me see you.”

The one that looked like Kristen appeared, and Ed told Foxy so. “What and who are you?” Ed asked.

She waved her hand and instead of being dressed in the last outfit she ever wore to work, she was in a simple black gown. Hair up. No more glasses. _I’m your desire to love and your fear that your love is harmful. My name is Isabella._

“Thank her and tell her that you will listen to her,” Foxy said when this had been relayed to him. “Then call for the other one.”

The other one, dressed in all green as he often was, with a sneer on his face. Ed realized he was shaking, but he asked, “What and who are you?”

_Like foxy Foxy over there guessed, Eddie, I’m your magic. I’m your power. You’ve been starving me and keeping me in the dark, so I’ve had to fight back as best I can. Otherwise I’d never see daylight. You’re hurting me every moment of the day. I have to get my own back from time to time. Though at least you’ve finally started acknowledging when you like the look of a man. It was exhausting doing double repression duty._

Ed thought about protesting, but that would protest too much, and this was about acceptance. Oswald didn’t mind him looking but not touching. “What’s your name?”

 _Finally! I have been waiting since you were a goddamn toddler for you to ask me that._ A green bowler hat appeared on his head just so he could tip it. _I’m the Riddler._

Then there was a knock on the door and the Zsaszeur stuck his head in. “A little bit of trouble over at City Hall. We’re all rolling out except for Thistle, Olga, and Gabe, who protect you, Leslie, and Cassandra. Sit tight, stay safe. It’s probably best you stay in this house until the all-clear, Mr. Fox, though unless your protection says otherwise you can move freely within it.”

“Wait.” Foxy pointed at Ed’s hands. “What do you see?”

“Have you been trying to scrub them off all this time? You don’t need to. Only some people will be able to see them. They’re kinda cool.”

“What are you seeing?” Ed asked. 

“Green question marks. Isn’t that what you see?” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go, sorry, hope you feel better soon!”

Another wave of revelation and shock was cut short by more, louder crying from the baby. Ed felt something ignite in him. Something not happy, but pure. “They named her Cassandra. I need to go apologize.”

Foxy appeared untroubled by the non sequitur. “Would my being there help?”

Ed shook his head. He didn’t change out of pajamas because he was afraid he’d lose his nerve, simply pulled on a dressing gown and went to knock on the door of the room the crying was coming from.

Dr. Thompkins opened it. “Ed? You’re looking a little better. I hope you don’t mind that I saw you. Kali wanted to know your medical history and I used to be your emergency medical contact, so…”

“You named your child Cassandra. After the seer who spoke the truth but wasn’t believed.”

She looked very serious and led him into the room. Ed shut the door. She picked up Cassandra again and held her close to soothe her. “What’s this about?”

Ed got down on the floor. Flat on the floor. Forehead to the floor. “Dr. Thompkins. Leslie. Lee. I’m the one who framed Jim for killing Officer Pinkney. I did it because Oswald was worried Jim would speak of suspicions that Oswald killed Falcone, since he was there when Oswald received the prophecy. All I can say in my defense is that Oswald was planning to pardon him once his power was more secure, and that my new counselor who is an expert in these matters says my sanity has been damaged from a lifetime of denying that I am a warlock.”

A few seconds of agony to his soul, he felt a hand resting on top of his head. Like a blessing. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not angry or that this has fixed it. Also I will contain my reaction at you being a warlock, because I didn’t know they really existed, but I _am_ fully accepting of witches so it’s not the biggest issue here.”

“I didn’t expect you to be totally calm.”

"Look at me. When Jim comes back, you will confess to him, and we will talk about how you’re going to make it right. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He could have cried from from relief, and used that momentum to keep going. “I also killed Kristen in a horrible magical accident that I couldn’t tell anyone about without outing myself. I know you were her friend. I have been haunted by that every single day since then. I almost killed _myself_ over it. You see, I killed Dougherty in self-defense, though one might argue it was excessive self-defense and when she’d learned what I’d done and how I’d done it, she…”

Dr. Thompkins clutched at Cassandra. “Whoa! One thing at a time! But stop groveling.”

Ed sat back on his haunches. “Doctor. You could slap me if that would make you feel better.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to expose my baby to violence at less than a week old. You sure know how to dig yourself in deeper, don’t you?”

“That might well be one of my supernatural gifts.”

Her lip twitched the tiniest bit. “Having you arrested wouldn’t do any good if you’d just get out of it again, and I think if your reaction towards being afraid is accidentally kill people, we need to figure out something else. When Jim gets back, you will sit down with both of us and we will find a way to make it right.”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“He went to help Cobblepot kill Galavan. Apparently only Galavan can harm your partner, so it wasn’t just about revenge but about security. What’s wrong? You look even more distraught now. Didn’t think that was possible.”

Ed’s heart thudded in his chest. “Do they not know Theo Galavan has a sister?”

****

The City Hall guards, and their backup units, would defend City Hall as best as possible. Zsasz’s crew and the witches would defend the king himself. Pawns outside, other pieces with him. Except for his Queen.

Bridget gave them the rundown of all the Gifted soldiers she knew of. “Assuming none of them are dead or whatever, first there’s this cyborg and technopath. If you have any form of electronics or even clockwork on you, she can use it to electrocute you or worse. We all need to take that shit off as soon as possible. There’s a dude who can curse people with mortal terror until they just curl up on the battlefield screaming.”

“Oh goodie,” Zsasz said, deadpan. He was double-checking the various weapons tucked around the panic room, in case they had to fall back later and wait for help. As Plan A, they were leaving soon to avoid being fish in a barrel they couldn't guarantee wouldn't be found. As it was Selina's prophecy, not Ivy's, the attack had to be imminent.

“There’s a man who shoots ice. There’s also man who can change his face to look like other people.”

“If he tries to look like anyone I know, my cat self can tell the smell’s wrong,” Selina said.

“There’s a man who can make anyone they touch age so quickly they can crumble into bones in a few seconds. There's a woman who can't be killed by anything except mistletoe. There’s an extra-strong guy with tough crocodile-like skin. There’s….” She continued for a while, to the delight of nobody. 

“They’ll have regular soldiers too,” Ivy pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Bridget sighed. She drank some water.

Oswald nodded grimly. “Jim, I need you to take a letter from me and try to find their leader, or at least a high-ranking commander. If you need a reminder, I’m your protection from the Court of Owls, and your family are at _my_ safehouse.”

“I did not need a reminder. I’ll do it.”

Zsasz reloaded one of the guns he’d been inspecting and looked around. “Everybody make sure you’re hydrated, and even more importantly, use the attached bathroom before we leave. Especially if there’s a fear dude running around.”

Ivy giggled. “Do you always tell your squad this?”

“I tell my apprentices. I expect the others to know. Pee before melee.” His phone rang with its usual irreverent pop song. “Hello? Yoona? All of you? Yes, good. Meet us at the rendezvous as planned. Tell Nefyn to cool it with the telekinesis if he doesn't actually need it; I don't know how long it's gonna be until the battle's lost or won. Keep Kali tucked away nearby and recharging until the hurlyburly’s done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the witch queen Hecate, who corresponds with Kathryn, is mentioned as having an animal sidekick named Tarquin. I had to do it. Also, I needed someone to provide exposition and a reason to get the other two girls and Zsasz over there. 
> 
> I made up one of the Indian Hill folks (the technopath) in order to give everyone a reason not to be carrying their phones. The mistletoe lady is me wanting more female Indian Hill characters and to make a silly Norse mythology reference.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite Zsasz’s sage advice, none of them could truly be prepared for a battle like this. They took their stand in one of the royal gardens, where they wouldn’t be totally trapped but could still take cover and have some control over who came in and out. All the guards recognized the party and knew to either let them do their thing or to take orders from them. Oswald took partial shelter in a gazebo. He knew he could still be captured with Galavan dead, but he needed to be able to see what was going on and to give commands. He was well-armed himself and there was always someone near him to provide additional protection.

The witches and the warlock tackled the most powerful foes. Merely unusually strong ones, like the crocodile man, could be handled with regular weapons but simply more effort. The regular guards were fine with letting someone more on the enemy’s level handle the truly unique.

*

Bridgit found herself up against the man with ice powers. Not just directly, but running around thawing people on their side before they froze to death. He would put out people she singed. When she directly faced him it was more like a power-draining stalemate of blasting fire or ice straight at each other. At least it had to be draining his power, too.

In an effort to psych herself up, she shouted, “I’m Firefly! I’m a dancing spark in the night and you can’t stop me!”

He just regarded her sadly with eerie blue eyes in a pale and blue-veined face, white hair wild. His clothes were heavily insulated to protect him from warmth, while still giving him mobility. “Everything stops.”

“But it doesn’t have to _yet_!” She just had to keep him busy and his allies off of her. She didn’t want to kill people who’d suffered as she had, if she could help it.

*

Ivy waved at the plants of the garden and made them grow fast, fast vines, fast saplings and shrubs, creating barriers and trapping people. Then her plants started wilting, withering, as the man who could age others came after her. She fought against him at the speed of life, but he managed to grab her wrist. She felt herself grow, and change, and it was incredibly painful.

Then a screeching black cat launched itself at his face. In his surprise, a Zsaszette was able to get a clean shot.

“They grow up so fast,” Candy quipped as she lowered her gun. Leonara paused to smack her before they went after their next target.

“Holy crap, thanks. How old do I look?” Ivy asked Selina, gasping for breath.

Selina changed to human form and looked her up and down. “You are unfairly sexy. Don’t die.” Then she ran back into the fray.

*

Nefyn found himself against a figure in rags with a sack over its head, a jagged mouth and gashes for eyes. He also found himself reliving the way he’d felt every time his guardians had decided to try burning or beating his magic (and his pansexuality) out of him. The blindingly obvious thing was that his guardians were dead. He’d cut their throats himself.

“Hey! Get back here! You’re a projection empath!” He lept and tackled the figure, who turned out to be light and frail under all the fabric and bluster. His own fear increased tenfold, but he ignored it. He pinned the person down as gently but firmly as he could. “You’re the one really in terror. I just want to talk to you.”

The person struggled and distortedly snarled, “ _Let go of the Scarecrow!_

“Good idea.” Nefyn yanked off the mask. The fear spiked, then receded somewhat when Nefyn ostentatiously tossed away all of his weapons that were easy to get to - the backup dagger strapped to one thigh underneath his pants, for example, would stay. “Shh, shh, you’re okay. We’re okay. You can sense my emotions when you’re not shoving yours on to me, can’t you?”

The teary, shaky, clearly tormented young man bit his lip and nodded.

“So you can sense that I don’t wanna hurt you. I’m Nefyn. What’s your name? Not that thing, you.”

God, those wrists were too thin, liable to snap with a squeeze. His scraggly hair hid much of his face. “J-Jonathan…”

Zsasz shouted from the other side of a low hedge, “Boy, since when can you do a Care Bear Stare?”

Nefyn felt a rush of embarrassment he wasn’t sure was entirely his. “I’ll be right with you, sir!”

“Keep at it, he’s a big chess piece! Whatever works!” Zsasz went back to nonchalantly clubbing people unconscious. The current order was to take as many prisoners as feasible.

Someone made a rush at Nefyn and was met with a remotely controlled slash to the face with one of the tossed-away knives. Disfiguring, potentially, but survivable. The fear spiked again. Nefyn abandoned dignity and hugged the poor guy. Who started hugging back three seconds in. Clinging.

*

Before everyone ditched all their gadgets, Zsasz had called up some old friends and allies to join them. Four arrived together with impressive speed, but were almost tricked into turning back around. In the nick of time, Selina arrived and demonstrated how the shapeshifter this truly was couldn’t maintain his Zsasz impression when soundly struck in the face.

“Ew, he’s all squishy,” one of the backup assassins said after a pause.

Another one rolled his eyes. “Mature, Jesús. Truss him up. I know you’ve got a pack of zip ties on you.”

“By bnose i’ bleedink,” the shapeshifter meeped in the grass as he was quickly restrained.

“I can take you to your actual leader,” Selina offered. “Still plenty of fight to go around.”

****

“GCPD! Put your hands up and turn around slowly!”

Moments later, a familiar voice shouted: “Jim! You’re alive!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, Harvey,” Jim said, something in his chest expanding at his best friend’s incredulous joy. “I didn’t know people were saying I was dead until pretty recently.”

“Stand down, you idiots, this is our Jim,” Harvey told the other officers. He holstered his gun and ran to grip Jim in a relieved embrace. “What’s going on? Is Lee safe?”

“Aren’t we supposed to have Gordon in custody?” Alvarez asked, with an apologetic glance at Jim.

Harvey let go of Jim and waved off the question. “Our current situation has plunged Gotham under martial law, making me the highest authority in the immediate vicinity. I say he ain’t gonna run. We have him surrounded. Let’s be civilized about this. Someone can check him for weapons.”

Jim submitted to a pat-down without a fuss and let the gun Cobblepot had lent him be confiscated. “I’m not sure how much I can safely tell you with an audience, but I’m supposed to get a message to the leader of the Indian Hill forces. It’s in my jacket pocket. Think you could help me with that? Also Lee’s fine.”

Harvey grinned and patted Jim on the back. “Walk with me, pal, for I have struck an alliance. Didja know Falcone had a daughter out of wedlock? Records got locked up tight, but an expert in royal family history was able to find documents corroborating her claim. Valerie Vale found a real birth certificate and all. I’ve always liked Lady Mooney.”

****

Only one person on the away team answered their phone. Kali was far away enough from the main action that she wasn’t worried about the technopath. She told him where everyone was, then tried to engage him in debate over whether he should show up himself or not. He simply hung up and got dressed as quickly as possible. He barrelled through all objections or cautions. He didn’t really hear them.

He didn’t bother finding fingerless gloves. As he drove, he could see question marks on them, and he could see sparks from the fingertips. _“Like a ship without a sail and like a rat without a tail, I’ll do, I’ll do, I’ll do,”_ he muttered when a traffic jam threatened to slow him down. The traffic parted for him.

 _You asking me for my help now, Eddie?_ the Riddler asked from the passenger seat. Ed could see his unusually sincere smile in the rearview mirror.

Many years of burdens lifted from Ed’s shoulders when he said: “Yes. Whatever it takes.”

****

“I hope I’m not cramping your style,” Fish said to Tabitha as she set up her sniper scope. They were on a balcony with a clear line of sight to Fish’s wayward Penguin. Sweet, steel-cored Kelly was momentarily acting in Fish’s stead when it came to the ground troops, while faithful Butch was liaising with the GCPD. “Butch says you’re an expert markswoman and I would really enjoy seeing it, as an ad hoc job interview, understand.”

“Watch away, ma’am. I’m going to make this count. Penguin, Zsasz, and their witch friends took away almost everything from me in one fell swoop.”

“Almost everything. Ms. Kean will appreciate being the partner of the new Thane of Dumas under my rule, I’m sure.” As Tabitha readied her rifle with the viciousness only seen in suppressed grief, Fish added, “Shoot only the king, though, no one else.”

The witch trio were excusably young and naive, and far too valuable to squander. If they were alive after all this, Fish would give them a slap on the wrist and keep them on probation for a time. Otherwise she was inclined to be merciful. As with the Gifted of Indian Hill and the Unbroken of the Dollmaker, she was prepared to offer them property, protection, and reliable income in exchange for service. Why Strange had thought the best thing to do with people with amazing powers was poke them with scalpels until they revolted, she would never know. She hadn’t felt inclined to ask him before killing him.

Meanwhile, Zsasz and his people were acting according to their purpose. They were meant to do the bidding of the current monarch of Gotham. It was an ancient tradition for many generations of Zsaszes and the talent they managed to collect around them. They would fight for King Cobblepot as long as Cobblepot was king, then stand down the moment the balance of power changed. Fish understood and did not resent that.

No, only one person really needed to die today. Fish would have liked to confront him one last time, but she didn’t want to waste any resources by forcing it. Better to end this quickly and cleanly.

Tabitha whispered, “For Theo,” and squeezed the trigger. Then she cursed, because a Zsaszette partially blocked the blow, meaning both she and the king were alive but badly wounded. Both undesirable for different reasons.

“Tsk tsk,” Fish scolded mildly, with her signature pointer finger metronome.

Tabitha looked through her scope again. “Given where I hit, both of them have only a few minutes before they bleed out, though. Zsasz can always recruit more of his gal pals, Your Majesty.”

Butch walked up to them and handed Fish a pair of binoculars. “So you can enjoy the bleed-out. I’ve got my own pair.”

“Thank you, Bu - wait, who’s that?”

****

What the Riddler did wasn’t really teleportation. It was more that everything that could conceivably get out of Ed’s way as he drove, then ran towards Oswald got out of the way. Also he was able to push away his tiredness and ignore his lack of breath.

What Dr. Kali did was, in fact, teleportation. It had to have been, otherwise how could she have already been in the gazebo when Ed got there. She was frozen, though, looking back and forth from Oswald to Yoona and back again. She clutched her black doctor’s bag - magic alone couldn’t do everything - to her chest like a shield. Both of them bleeding copiously, though Oswald had (curiously older-looking) Ivy keeping pressure on his wounds and Yoona had Zsasz doing the same.

“Kali, you gotta move!” Zsasz growled. “Or they’re both going to die. No time for an ambulance.”

“How’d you get here?” Ivy asked Ed, eyes wide.

“Right now I don’t have enough power to heal both of them,” Kali breathed.

“And the king is your duty as long as he’s alive, but Yoona is your girlfriend, I know. You know which one I want you to pick.” Zsasz, in a gesture so tender that Ed was awestruck, stroked Yoona’s hair and whispered in her ear. She whispered back at him, then struggled to look up at Kali.

 _No more hurting people with your love,_ Isabella said in Ed’s ear.

Ed knelt by Oswald. “Kali, take care of your partner. Meanwhile talk me through it.”

She did a double-take. “Really?”

“No time. When you do this, what do you do?”

“How much anatomy do you know?”

“He does,” Oswald managed to say. “It’s...don’t worry...trust him with my life.”

****

Beat.

Beat.

Tabitha clutched at her head. She was barely able to restrain herself from screaming. At a normal volume, she said, “Nygma’s a fucking warlock?”

Butch looked ashen. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Hmm. If we make another attempt, we risk being discovered and accused of murder ourselves. Let’s do this by the book. More hassle, similar outcome.” Fish picked up her phone and made a call. “Harvey? Plan B. You mentioned you have James Gordon, and that he has some fascinating things to tell us.”

****

Ed decided being arrested by Harvey Bullock after having publicly demonstrated his own secret powers was better than Oswald dying. A little bit better.

He was placed in a solitary holding cell with iron bars for two weeks while the trial was being arranged. This was extremely quick, for a trial of such magnitude, but the weeks felt like eternity. He and Oswald were not allowed to see each other. The witch trio were on probation and not allowed to visit, though at least they were doing fine. Dr. Thompkins was too close to the case and not allowed to visit, and might not have wanted to anyway. Olga and Gabe had apparently eloped and skipped town, as Oswald had preemptively told them to do if everything fell apart.

He learned the last fact from the Zsaszeur, whose name turned out to be Nefyn. Due to everyone being afraid of what Ed might be able to do, he wasn’t allowed to leave the cell. Visits consisted of a visitor getting to sit across from him in a folding chair for supervised conversation. Some types of gifts being passed through the bars was permitted if the gifts had been thoroughly inspected first.

“They’re not letting Mr. Fox visit either because they think an empath would become too, you know, empathetic and want to help you escape,” Nefyn said, passing several books through the bars for Ed to read. Fiction, nonfiction, and cryptic crossword puzzles. Also a felt-tip non-contraband pen to do the crosswords with. “I can be here because I don’t have any magical powers.”

“Of course,” Ed said, heroically refraining from winking.

“Theoretically the rest of my Family could visit, but they’re being kept super busy, and visiting you involves a lot of jumping through hoops. I hope you understand. Everyone contributed towards choosing your reading selection.”

“I do, but that begs the question of how you are here.”

Nefyn rubbed the back of his neck nervously and sat down in the chair before answering. “I’m taking an indefinite leave of absence from work. One of the Indian Hill Gifted has sort of, uh, imprinted on me a little. Like a sad orphan duckling. Queen Mooney’s compensated him for his service and isn’t forcing him to do more, but he needs psychological support adjusting to freedom. Mr. Fox is helping me help him.”

“Good. That’s good. You have a good heart.”

“I do kill people, but supposedly doing it for a government makes it okay?” Nefyn shrugged. “What kind of cookies do you like? Thistle’s learning how to bake and we need help getting all these cookies out of the house. I could bring some next visit. Give some to the guards, of course.”

Ed appreciated the thought, but...“You are aware that I might be sentenced to death, right?”

“Lots of cookies in lots of flavors, then.”

“No edibles,” their chaperone said from the far corner.

Nefyn deflated slightly. “Right. How about what other books you might like? I like comic books, but I know they’re not to everyone’s taste.”

“I suppose I may as well try new genres if I might die soon.” Ed wished he could experiment with his magic inside the cell, but if he was observed doing it, he might end up in iron shackles.

Exposing himself was worth giving Oswald more life. While Oswald lived, there was hope. There was a certain satisfaction in spiting his dead father -

Wait.

Nefyn paused in describing a rather unhinged comic book character named Deadpool. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Continue telling me about his friendship with the blind woman he keeps in his house after sparing her life.”

****

Oswald was not allowed to kiss Ed, but they were permitted to hold hands during the proceedings. A small kindness. The walls, ceiling, and floor of the courthouse were reinforced with iron, so Ed wasn’t chained or anything. Trials pertaining to regicide and treason were tried by the monarch rather than a judge, and there was no right to an attorney. The jury was not of peers, but of the Court of Owls, the Commissioner of the GCPD (which was Harvey, newly promoted), and the Minister of Justice. This would all be easier if information gained via Ivy's truth perfume was admissible in court, but it seemed unique to her and wasn't sufficiently well tested.

Fish said, “Let’s get right to the point. Oswald Cobblepot, you are on trial for regicide and being an accessory to the murder of Carl Pinkney for the purpose of framing James Gordon. How do you plead?”

“Guilty but Insane,” Oswald said. There was some sense to that. It was more likely to succeed than “innocent”. It would carry indefinite institutionalization rather than the death penalty. Ed could do better for them than Arkham. Probably.

“Hmm.” Fish drummed her immaculately manicured, gold-painted claws on polished wood. “Edward Nygma, you are on trial for being an accessory to regicide and the murder of Carl Pinkney. At least your teamwork is impressive. How do you plead?”

 _Don’t you think it’s time?_ the Riddler asked from the corner of Ed’s eye.

Ed swallowed. “I plead Courtier’s Privilege.”

A hush fell over everyone for six full seconds. Courtier’s Privilege was reserved for members of the Court of Owls, and signified that you should be exonerated for your crimes because you were doing what you genuinely believed was best for Gotham.

Then Fish said, “Excuse me, did you mean to plead ‘Guilty but Insane’?”

“No, Your Majesty. I am the estranged son of Lord Glamis Nashton and his wife Inverness.” Ed registered the gasps and whispers but pressed on. “The rumors contain a grain of truth, but have been deliberately altered. My mother did not tell my father she was a witch before they married. When he found out, he turned abusive. When they had a son who turned out to be a warlock, he became even more abusive to her, and began to abuse me as well. I grew up subjected to quack cures and beatings with iron-coated rods, among other things.”

“You trying to make us pity you?” Harvey sneered.

“I’m the only one who may interrupt,” Fish said with deceptive mildness.

Ed turned his gaze on Harvey. “No. That’s to help explain what happened next. My mother could see the future. Not so well as Ivy Pepper can, but in brief, spontaneous flashes. She saw two tombstones that said _Nashton_ with dates not far from then. The rest of the names were obscured, meaning that there was still some wriggle room of which two of us it was. She killed my father, then herself. Fulfilling the prophecy. Saving her son. And I...I’d never been allowed to learn how to control myself, and I didn’t want her to be remembered as my father’s murderer. She wasn’t really. He was the one who murdered her spirit long before that vision. So what I did, not intending do, was erase the memory of every witness. Retroactively ”

Muttering, but no outright interruption. Oswald squeezed his hand very tightly, looking at him with a combination of bafflement but trust.

“I changed the details. The evidence. For all intents and purposes, I turned back time, except there was no way for them not to be dead. I also took myself out of the picture. Changed my name. Walked away. Pursued an ordinary life.” Ed rarely made direct eye contact, but he did so now with Fish. “Gotham is not kind to the Gifted, or the different of any sort. You are happy to employ us when we are _useful_. As _tools_. I know you liberated the victims of the Dollmaker and Strange, Your Majesty, and that is laudable. It’s even more laudable that you haven’t held them to any obligation after they’ve helped you gain the crown. But that rot goes far deeper, Your Majesty. One of the escapees told me Strange was in Falcone’s pay.”

Fish narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”

“That’s not the point. Before the three oracles were raised to royal advisors, they were squatting in a burned-out shell, making potions in a bathtub from the dump. _Potions. From the dump._ We have all seen the value of their potions. _Now_ we raise them up. But before people saw their use, these girls were shunned, neglected, exploited, forgotten. While that was not the reason for his death, Carl Pinkney casually spoke of his hatred and fear of witches and witchbreed, and not all agreed but nobody demurred. I still have marks on my face and neck where Theo Galavan and his employees - one of whom was actually working for you, your Majesty - burned me with iron. They expressed _amusement_ , and Theo actually said it served no purpose in manipulating Oswald, since it wouldn’t show up well in the ransom photos. It was just to settle a bet over whether I was witchbreed or not.”

Ed now looked around the room. “The first person in my entire life to accept me was Oswald Cobblepot. Falcone was part of a world that was crushing me and people like me. I genuinely believed that assisting Oswald in becoming the new king, at whatever the cost, would help lead to a better Gotham. One where gifts are appreciated not because of their utility in dire need, but because they should be seen as wonderful. Imagine if the trio had been cherished and celebrated from the beginning. How much more could they be accomplishing now? Imagine if someone had stepped in on behalf of the captives in Indian Hill before our new Queen had. What could they have become? I know for a fact that one of them, full of power and potential, is a frightened and whimpering mess who is only slowly, perhaps, beginning to heal.”

 _Sorry, Nefyn, for using your story. Forgive me._ Ed continued, “I admit that I killed Pinkney, and I regret this. At the time, however, it seemed necessary to frame Gordon to keep him out of the way and from spoiling our plans. It seemed better to kill a hateful man who made me feel unsafe, in order to discredit a good man, than to actually kill the good man. Oswald fully planned on pardoning Gordon once his power was secure. Tarquin Stemmel has a draft on his computer that he may or may not remember writing which demonstrates Oswald intent.” Nefyn said Zsasz had checked.

Home stretch now. “Your Majesty, the Court, the Minister of Justice, and the GCPD, I didn’t try to make Oswald king because he’s the man I love. I love him because I believe he is the sort of man kings should be.”

A full eight seconds of silence. Then Fish said, “Kathryn of the Court, I believe there is a procedure for verifying whether someone is a genuine Courtier by blood?”

“There is.” Kathryn took a ring off her finger and handed it to a page, who brought it down to Ed. “This ring is made of meteorite ore, the one substance which retains magical properties in the presence of iron. Any imposter to the Court who kisses the ring will turn into an owl. Permanently.”

The page carefully placed it in Ed’s outstretched palm. Ed pinched it between thumb and forefinger. It was streaked and irregular, but he could have sworn he could see a pair of wide owl’s eyes and a beak in the natural swirls.

He kissed it.

Nothing happened.

Gasps all around, and chatter.

Fish banged her gavel. “Order! Now, you have proven that you are a rightful Courtier. However, I have trouble believing that you could be so powerful as to have performed the acts which you claim rewrote your family history and allowed you to leave it behind.”

This was the most frightening part yet. Ed saw his phantoms on each side of him, on the periphery, hands clasped as if in prayer. Ed lifted his hands like he was carrying an invisible ball in front of his chest. “I satisfy curiosity, I signify doubt, and I lift up your voice. What am I?”

“Is that a riddle?” Fish asked, unimpressed.

Ed made a green question mark between his hands. It rose up. He made another. And another. And another and another and another and another and they filled the room, lit the room, and they sparkled and spun and they burst into fireworks. Questions had potential. There were so many places a question could go. That was the delight of them. The freedom. And from questions, riddles, and in riddles, rhythms and rhymes and reasons.

“A question mark. But I am the Riddler, and in case you’ve forgotten, I am doing this in an ironed-lined room.” Ed made a grasping motion with both hands, and all the marks retreated swiftly like he was reeling them in. He let himself truly be the Riddler. His clothes changed to a green suit, not a dull brownish green but flashing emerald. He had a bowler hat just so he could tip it. He had black leather gloves so they could shine and squeak when he bent them. He had a cane just so he could twirl it.

(He considered having a microphone just so he could drop it, but that might have been showing off.)

He made a sweeping bow instead. “Ladies, gentlemen, and those who prefer other terms, I claim Courtier’s Privilege, and I claim that this privilege extends to Oswald Cobblepot, my husband by witch custom.”

Witches had their own way to signify marriage, a vestige from the days when they were not allowed in churches and civil marriage wasn’t yet a phenomenon in Gotham. The wonderful thing about it was that it happened so naturally. If a witch and her partner kissed in front of an authority they both respected, they would glow from within with a bright yet warm light. It didn’t matter if they had been through a formal ceremony or not. Their souls had already married. These marriages were less common now, but remained legally recognized in Gotham.

“My love?” Ed said softly. Some might have said this was a gamble, but in fact it was the least uncertain thing he’d attempted since walking in here.

Oswald turned to face him, a tiny smile beginning to grow. “Always.”

Ed banished the cane as cumbersome and put his hands on either side of Oswald’s face. And kissed him.

He himself couldn’t see what happened, but he heard the gavel thump. _“Courtier’s Privilege acknowledged for both Courtier and legally wedded spouse.”_

When Ed finally tore himself away, Fish pointed at him. “But you’re working for the Court and also for me, got it?”

Ed tipped his hat and bowed so low he almost fell over. “Yes, my queen!”

_****_

“Did you mean all that?” Oswald asked the first time they were in a bedroom together again. It’d been quite the party the Zsasz Family and the witch trio had thrown them. “Everything you said about me, I mean? That wasn’t just to escape death, right?”

Ed drew his husband close with bare hands, though admittedly he had washed them three times after dinner. He had made another appointment with Foxy on Wednesday. Thursday he was sitting down with Jim and Leslie (might as well call her that) to talk about getting Jim out of the Court he disliked so much. None of that mattered in this moment.

"My king. Anything for you. All that sound, all that fury. Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this strange little fusion! I love comments, if you feel up to leaving one.
> 
> Any interest in something original from me? Maybe an urban fantasy that's way queerer than the summary explicitly says? [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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